Fighting Gravity
by CrazygurlMadness
Summary: The land of Hylia is being torn asunder by civil war, from the dunes of Twilight to the lush hills of Calatia. When Captain Link of the Hylian Alliance recovers the imperial princess in a crashed airship during a storm, he ends up embroiled in a situation no training could possibly prepare him for. AU, Zelink, Midnark, Sci-Fi/Fantasy COMPLETE
1. 1-1 - The Soldier

**IMPORTANT: Most of you will have already begun this story some time back when it was incomplete. Well now it's complete, and I've done a lot of fixing. I will be posting chapters a lot faster this time. You'll also find I reorganized the story's layout. Now, no matter the length, you only get one POV per chapter. It's neater, and easier for me to setup.**

**PLEASE NOTE: Your comments and feedback are always welcome. I hope you will begin this story anew, with fresh eyes, and dive back into the world I took, like, seriously, over five years to write, which is ridiculous and which I will never, no, never, ever again attempt.  
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**I want to also give a shout out to all of the readers who have been supporting me over the years. This story is dedicated to you, most especially.  
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**With all my love,  
><strong>**CM**

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><p><span><strong>PART 1:<strong>**A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 1: THE SOLDIER  
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><p><em>17<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, somewhere over the Gerudo desert<br>Hylian Alliance ship, the _Courage

Smoke. Fire. Heat. Screams.

War.

"Load your guns," the battalion's conveyor warned his men by radio. "They'll be hitting us next. Hold your fire until I give you the signal."

Link Forester took a deep breath. He was thankfully out of the firing line; he stood on the command deck with all the other captains, blinking in the unfiltered sunlight that blazed through the ship canopy. Below, men quivered and shook with fear and anticipation. But he saw and heard none of it.

Captain Ralph Advice stood off to the side, in a pained, stunned daze. Half of his squadron had been decimated that very morning, and the shock had taken its toll on the otherwise upbeat young officer. Of the twelve Flits that had departed, only five had returned. It was a great price to pay, and one Ralph had not yet accepted. He was leaning against the wall, eyes staring into nothing. Twenty-one flitters gone for good, another six seriously injured. Of the five engines that had managed to return, three had suffered severe damage and would require days of repair.

"Spit on the Guardians," Darunia Rocks, a large Goron who served directly under their commander, mumbled. He looked at the fierce airborne battle raging outside, seen in every detail from the command deck's large canopy window, voicing the hatred felt by a whole nation. He wasn't in a good mood. He'd just returned from an inspection and, as Link could guess, all was not well. "The bastards managed to take out the aft right-hand hovercraft on deck 2."

Link glanced at Impa Shades. The fleet commander was not in a good mood either. She'd announced before the fight even started that they'd suffer from it. She hadn't, however, expected attacks to actually reach _the Courage_, one of the Hylian Alliance's main airships.

Things had swiftly gone from bad to worse. Somehow, the Guardian Air Forces had managed to procure a large number of Flits and dogfighters in an alarmingly short time. Someone was providing the Guardians ―of the Guardian Coalition― with weaponry faster than the Hylian Alliance could purchase gunpowder.

In all fairness, it had seemed like a good idea, at first, to send out Ralph Advice's squadron. The captain was still young for such missions, it was true, but he was a natural for difficult fights. They'd expected him to lose a few Flits, but not that many.

And they certainly hadn't expected one of the Guardian Coalition's principal airships, _The Argorok_, to release such merciless dogfighters onto the then-helpless squadron. Ralph had retreated hastily, broken, his squad in shambles, and _the Courage_ had struggled to fight off the subsequent onslaught of swift enemy attacks.

With one of _the Courage_'s eight massive hovercrafts gone so early in the battle, the odds were against them. The airship could survive on four hovercrafts if necessary, but in a normal battle, large airships like _the Courage_ didn't lose hovercrafts to enemy fire in the first place.

Link Forester had fought losing battles many times, but none had seemed this… desperate before.

"Captain Forester," Impa Shades called. Rumour had it the woman was of Sheikah ancestry, and her eyes, almost red in the sunlight, seemed to confirm it then. She stood rigidly as she looked at the flurry of dogfighters and Flits zipping by the command deck's canopy. The sunlight over the desert was bright and unhindered. They'd fought for hours, trying to reclaim the desert airspace. Her knuckles were white as she held onto her seat's armrests: she was uneasy.

"Commander," Link said, standing at attention.

"How many of your Flits are ready for combat?"

"All seventeen of them, Commander." Link pretended he wasn't worried for them.

Impa Shades lowered her gaze away from the gut-wrenching sight of the Hylian Alliance losing terrain and she breathed, "Have a Flit message out to Admiral Auru at the Citadel. We are losing this battle and will buckle down in the Canyon before more men are lost."

Link couldn't help but stare. Never before had he seen Impa Shades surrender. Gathering his wits, he said, "Shall I accompany it, or remain here?"

"Take your Flit."

The curt tone made the message clear: she wanted this over with as soon as possible. Captain Link Forester was the fastest airman affiliated to _the Courage_'s fleet.

He clicked his heels together and said, in the same, efficient tone, "I will rejoin at the Castleton Base." He turned to Captain Gaebora, the most experienced captain on board ―perhaps because of his Rito lineage, which, though shameful in this time of war, granted him natural understanding of air and wind currents― and said, "The remaining sixteen Flits in my squadron are under your command until my return."

Gaebora nodded curtly. Good enough.

Link was relieved to leave the command deck. _The Courage_'s sides were being mercilessly attacked by enemy fire, and he was beginning to doubt its strength.

Sergeant Sheik Strike, his second-in-command, fell into step with him. He'd overheard Commander Impa Shades' order; there was no point in asking. Sheik always knew what was going on. They'd been partners for so long that Link wasn't even surprised at his efficiency anymore. The lithe young man was technical. "I've finished restocking the Flit. Its hovercrafts are in working order and the directional engine is as good as it can be. I've chosen Colin Blade as our third man."

Link nodded. When he was out of the Commander's sight, he relaxed easily. Colin Blade was a seventeen year-old navigator, son of the Hylian Alliance's Ground Forces Commander, Rusl Blade. He was a quiet kid, with an innocent, harmless look that hid his skill. Where Sheik was the ideal technical engineer, Colin was the perfect navigator. Link always piloted; their assistance made each one of his flights successful.

So far.

Colin Blade was waiting by the Flit's open cockpit door, anxiously leaning against the side in a uniform that seemed a little too small on him. He was still growing, and his pants were getting short.

Link took a moment to do a once-over of his airship. A Flit was a lightweight aircraft, with two rotor-based hovercrafts to maintain lift. A strong directional booster at the back was necessary for movements in mid-air. There were two short wings on each side of the boxy but surprisingly spacious cockpit, mostly to maintain balance in strong winds.

Link enjoyed flitting; the engine was easily handled and was the swiftest aircraft in existence. A well-tuned Flit could travel at high speeds and still execute sharp turns at the slightest nudge of the pilot's hand. It was easy to feel in control, and Link honestly considered himself a champion of Flit piloting. He'd won grand races before enrolling in the military. It had made his renown, and had quickly propelled him to the rank of captain.

"All tuned and ready to go, captain," Colin Blade said, smiling. The boy liked flying too.

Link nodded, smirked, and removed his uniform jacket. He disliked its formality. It landed in a trunk inside the Flit's engine room. They kept everything in nailed boxes and trunks, to avoid loose objects during the flight. Sharp turns could end up being deadly otherwise. As he sat in the pilot's seat with Colin next to him, he checked the fuel gauges and the heat generation gauge on Sheik's boards, while Colin calculated the distance to destination ―the Citadel's headquarters, a good four hours away― as well as the maximum speed for the endurance flight.

"Wind from the south-west. Maximum speed, 212," he said, then added, "at an altitude of 800. Hovercraft strength set on ten FGU, propeller on eight. I've entered the best route to destination on your directional screen and calculated a fifteen-minute battlefield escape time limit."

Link grinned. "All good. We're going to be way under."

Sheik shut the cockpit door and sat behind Colin. "I wouldn't be sure about that. It's a bad war zone out there." He secured the safety belt over his torso. "All engines are ready to go, though I noticed a medium-levelled oil gauge on our left hand hovercraft. It should still last us a good while. I'll check it regularly in flight."

Link nodded and put on his headset. His flight companions imitated his practiced movements. With the sound their engine would soon be making, they'd need the headsets to communicate.

It took a full minute to warm up the hovercrafts and the propeller.

"Putting the hovercrafts to one FGU. Propeller on zero." Something below their craft started humming lowly.

Sheik glanced at the gauges at his side. "All normal."

"Turning hovers up to one and a half… two FGU." The humming increased; the craft lifted off the hangar floor.

"All normal," Sheik confirmed again.

"Hovers on two," the captain said, for the benefit of his help. He then tuned in with the hangar operator, and said, into his headset, "Battleship _Courage_, Flit 106 calling for exit."

'_Gotcha, Captain Forester; it won't be long. Clearing launch port― all right, they're clear. Five minute opening, no more. We'll cover you_.'

"Alright, thanks."

A signal was given to the automatic doors. The latch was opening. The three young men watched as daylight and gunfire sounds started pouring into the dark hangar. Link wasted no time. "Hovers still on two; propeller on one FGU… two."

"All normal."

The still weak propeller was slowly pushing the Flit on an air cushion created by the hovercrafts. It drifted towards the battleship's hangar opening, and the sound of the battle mixed with the sound of its engine began to deafen the three-man team. It was customary, however, so none of them reacted.

"Flit 106 taking off."

'_Have a nice flight_,' the operator's sarcastic farewell said, and Link snorted into the headset, then disconnected from the operator's line. He raised the hovercraft's strength and increased the propeller's power.

"Hovers on three; propeller on four."

Sheik didn't say anything this time. The verifications were done. Link only did it to help Colin keep track. Outside, many allied and enemy aircrafts were zipping by, spiralling, trying to shoot one another down. They'd have a secured ramp for take-off into the empty airspace below the ship, but after that, it'd be a zigzagging feat to escape the battlefield.

"Hovers on three and a half, propeller on five… six." The Flit was steadily gliding towards the opening. It was now moving along the release ramp and would soon plunge into the open.

Colin checked his watch. They had twelve minutes to get out of the battlefield area at full speed before settling for their cruising speed.

"Hovers on four, propeller on seven…" The Flit was moving faster and faster, and the end of the ramp came faster and faster. "Eight…"

The Flit dropped off the ramp and into the sunlight. Immediately, Link adjusted the hovercrafts' strength and pushed the propeller up to nine, then ten fighting-gravity-units.

"We'll pass under the melee," Link commented as he dropped the hovercrafts' strength. "And break back up once we're clear."

There was a certain risk to having little altitude but high speed. Obstacles were numerous at low heights. But Colin was calm; Link was a talented pilot. Rather than worry about obstacles, he concentrated on his monitor.

He sharply looked up at his captain. "Enemy dogfighter taking chase. I'm transferring the lock."

"Gotcha," Link said, absently checking his speed gauge. They were far above their cruising speed. "We'll push this baby a little bit more and lose him in the fray."

"Engines clear."

"Propeller at twelve," Link said. "Hovers rising to seven FGU."

The Flit heaved upwards suddenly, pushed both by its hovercrafts and by its strong booster. The battle and its numerous participants were drawing nearer, until the captain's Flit was right in the middle of it. Gunfire was abundant, and a few shots hit the armoured body, but didn't detract Link Forester's aircraft from its path.

Far across the battlefield, over the yellow dunes, the _Argorok_ loomed threateningly.

Link weaved in and out of other flight paths, occasionally checking his timer and fuel gauge, but otherwise looking like he was having a great, if adrenalin-pumped, time.

"Is our dog still giving chase?" He asked his navigator. Colin was squinting at his now crowded screen.

"Hard to say. I think so."

"Alright then," Link grinned. "Propellers to maximum speed. Hovercrafts to ten FGU. Think we can still push her?"

"At full-strength, we can only afford another seven minutes before we start eating our cruise fuel," Colin replied.

Link grinned. The speed at which the Flit was hurtling through the air was exhilarating. "Hold on tight."

He raised the hovercrafts' strength to its maximum. As they rose in a graceful peak over the fighting, Colin checked his screen.

"Still giving chase," he said. "He's stubborn."

"We'll see about that," Link said, and in a single movement, dropped the hovercraft's power from maximum to three. It was like cutting out their air support. The Flit dropped down, back into the battle, and even lower as gravity dragged it, pushed forward only by its powerful propeller but otherwise in absolute freefall. Link zipped through the air, teeth clenched together in a large, tense smile. The dogfighter executed a graceful arc as well and plunged after them.

"It's gaining on us," Colin said, his heart in his throat and his body rising out of his seat ―thank the skies for his seatbelt― as the Flit continued to drop through the air. It was terrifying, but he didn't say it. He felt as if, at any moment, they'd hit the ground with a splat. Because indeed, the ground was hurtling towards them at a speed he was definitely uncomfortable with.

"I damn _hope_ he's still giving chase," Link said between his teeth. He was concentrating on the ground, concentrating on his timing and experience, knuckles white as he gripped the controls.

"He's on our tail. We're probably in his line of fire." It was hard not to sound panicked. If they didn't hit the ground first, they'd be shot down.

There was the ground.

One last second…

Link pushed the hovercrafts' strength back up to seven fighting-gravity-units. The engines whined, but obeyed. The Flit landed on an air cushion and continued hurtling ―horizontally, this time― along the desert ground, at a speed that was higher than usual. It was like a miracle. They weren't dead. They'd just taken a powerful drop and nearly lost―

The dogfighter hit the ground at full speed, and rocketed in every direction as it exploded in a massive ball of fuel fire. Link pushed the Flit onward and away from the battle's airspace.

"They always overestimate a dogfighter's manoeuvrability," Link said smugly, ignoring Colin's pale face and Sheik's tight-lipped smile.

"Arrogant much?" Sheik said, with a teasing voice.

'_Flit 106. A call from Battleship_ Courage_. Come in, Flit 106_.'

Colin took the line. "Flit 106 online."

'_Commander Impa Shades for captain Link Forester_.'

"I'm listening," the captain said good-humouredly, raising the Flit higher above the ground and lowering its horizontal speed. No one else had taken chase.

'_Forester, that was a beautiful manoeuvre_," Impa Shade's voice complimented, '_and if you ever risk a Flit like that again, I'm demoting you_.'

"Duly noted, Commander. Good luck."

'_No, good luck to_ _you_.'

The communication was abruptly cut off. Link glanced at Colin questioningly, but the boy had no explanation. Impa Shades was unreadable even on her good days.

The next few minutes as they flew over the barren land were quiet. The glare of the sun through the cockpit window prompted them to put on glasses to cut its bright light and see clearly. It was a long flight to the Citadel, and they were by nature quiet men. Link was the most confident, Colin the easiest to read, and Sheik the most analytic. Their three-man cell was well matched.

Colin was the first to break the silence. "Captain?"

"It's Link, Colin, when we're not in front of officials. What is it?"

"Sorry... Link. Um… Why are we headed for the Citadel?"

Link put the Flit on autopilot after entering their destination's coordinates. He took a deep breath and untied his seatbelt. Sheik relaxed as well and stood to check on the hovercrafts, which they'd strained during the battlefield escape.

Link looked pensive and mildly annoyed. "The Guardians' hold on the west is strong. We received orders to retake the desert lands, but apparently, it won't be possible. We need to tell the Citadel about the stalemate. They'll need to consolidate the defences quickly, because the Guardian Coalition won't be satisfied for long. If they reach the Citadel, the war will be as good as lost."

And the Hylian Alliance, which was already crumbling, would cease to exist altogether.


	2. 1-2 - The Princess

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 2: THE PRINCESS**

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><p><em>17<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

It had taken centuries to build Hylia. Eight countries had banded together and sworn to defend each other from outside forces if need be by forming economical and political trades. For ages, the Hylian Alliance had done all it could to survive the test of time. It had suffered civil wars and been threatened more than once, but it had stood strong nonetheless.

The eight countries ―Twilight and Calatia to the north; Hyrule in the middle, flanked to the west by Holodrum and to the east by Termina and Minish; Labrynna to the south of Holodrum, and the Waker Islands archipelago to the far south of Hyrule― had until then been so powerfully linked that no outside force had dared to attack them.

Was it any surprise that the threat had come from the inside?

The Guardian Coalition had started off as an underground revolutionary movement. It rebelled against the stable, unchanging nature of Hylia. It proudly willed itself as 'guardian of the future'.

It was lead by Ganondorf Dragmire. The military man, born in the arid Gerudo Desert in western Hyrule, was a mercenary nowadays. He'd gathered strong followers and his inherited fortune had assured him a choice spot in Hyrule's military ranks. He'd be on an unstoppable climb in the Hylian Alliance ranks…

Until the Scission.

Convinced that he would get nowhere with mere military advancement, Dragmire had slowly begun to make ripples in the Hylian political pond. In his wake, many leaders had chosen to join him. Queen Ambi of Labrynna, Princess Midna Black of Twilight, Prince Komali, lord of the Waker Sky, and even the titled princess Ruto Watters ―though her rule was soon annulled by the rest of Hyrule's inner court who feared Ganondorf's rise.

This last event had caused the Scission. The rogue self-proclaimed Admiral had cut off his ties with the Hylian Alliance altogether, and had sworn to reclaim it for himself. To make it stronger, he said. He'd pronounced an incendiary speech soon after the final decision to strip princess Ruto of her rule was made. Revolts had spawned; the injustice propelled Ganondorf Dragmire to new heights of popularity. The countries of Twilight and Calatia declared themselves his ally; Holodrum and Labrynna were soon to follow.

Civil war, though undeclared, had broken.

At the frontier, Hyrule and the Waker archipelago struggled to maintain their composure. Waker was torn between the followers of Prince Komali ―who approved of Ganondorf and his ideals― and the followers of the recently deceased Laruto, whose ideals for peace and cooperation her daughter, Queen Rutela of the Waker Sea, sought to uphold.

Hyrule was in the worst situation. As the political centre of the Hylian Alliance, it was nearly surrounded by the Guardian Coalition. The capital ―the city of Castleton― was the place where all would be decided. Its Citadel, which had been the host and guide of the Hylian Alliance for ages, became the command centre for military and political leaders.

War was raging, and already a large part of Labrynna was devastated.

Thousands had died and thousands more would die soon.

The Rito-controlled islands of Waker were heavily fortified and threatened the east.

Calatia was waging a war on Hyrule's northern border and had invaded a part of Minish's territories.

Slowly, parts of the country were getting eaten away. The people lived in fear. The Hylian Alliance was in shambles. The Guardian Coalition seemed unstoppable. Ganondorf Dragmire seemed to gather supporters wherever he went.

The future of the Hylian Alliance seemed bleak and dismal. They were going to fall.

But not without a fight.

Zelda penned her signature on a weapons treaty with Termina. The country had offered to help provide resources, as long as Hyrule acted as its shield. It wasn't a pleasant idea, but she was certain they'd have no other choice.

Around her, the now half-empty table of dignitaries looked grim. The sky and clouds, as seen from the Citadel's tower, and the expanse of Castleton rooftops and streets stretching far below, was deceptively peaceful, if dismal.

Barthelemy Dotour, Lord of Termina, looked tired. He had dark circles under his eyes, and he sat hunched over in his chair. His skin was paler than it usually was. He could have been dying.

What great timing, Princess Zelda of Hyrule considered, sarcastically. He'd be sparing himself the horror of defeat.

Prime Minister Ezlo Picori of Minish sat at the table too, between two vacant seats ―the Rito Komali's and the Twili Midna's―, looking older than he'd had in ages, his small frame occasionally wracked with pained coughs. Across from her sat Rauru Luz, high priest of Hyrule, looking severe and mildly distressed. Renado Shaman, lord of the Town of Kakariko, sat next to him, dark brows drawn in a seemingly permanent frown, his thick lips stubbornly shut.

Auru Mage, Admiral of Hyrule's armies, sat on her other side. He was getting old, but his experience was invaluable. His sharp eyes guessed her every thought ―it was annoying.

The Zora Rutela of the Waker Sea hadn't been able to come. A skirmish had destroyed Great Fish Isle, and the damages were estimated to cost a fortune.

Zelda felt her shoulders hunch. She was feeling so old, so helpless.

"Shall we seal this with a pleasant dinner?" she asked, forcing a smile. No one returned it, and it melted too. "I didn't think so." Her eyes inevitably returned to the pale blue sky outside. Longing tugged at her heart.

"If that is all," Rauru Luz said, standing, "I will take my leave. The priests and priestesses are having trouble handling the large number of imploring prayers. Not to mention the funerals." His thick white brows frowned. He wasn't targeting anyone in particular, but Zelda could only bristle, the comment itching her nerves.

It wasn't _her_ fault Hyrule was at war, and it certainly wasn't her fault that the people were dying.

Ezlo Picori and Barthelemy Dotour excused themselves and took their leave as well. Renado Shaman and Auru Mage remained. The sun was low on the horizon, stealing the blue away from the sky. No doubt they'd talk about the conflict until midnight.

Conflict. Always the conflict. Zelda hated it, but she didn't know how to put a stop to it. Surrendering seemed preposterous, but fighting until all were dead was folly as well.

Gathering her wits, she turned to Auru. Her tone was poised. "I take it you sent someone to reclaim the west province."

Auru Mage nodded. "Commander Impa Shades left with the battleship _Courage_ and its fleet. To be honest, it seems a lost battle, but we have to put up a fight, set the boundaries."

The sky was paling. It was turning white and pink. The sun would soon set. Night in the capital was a strange experience. With the multitude of lights, the sea of stars above, the expanse of pale windows in the town below, each one a flicker of life, Zelda felt as if she drowned in a sea of dead souls.

So, often, she found refuge in her suspended garden, a long way above the city, somewhere between earth and sky. She hadn't left the Citadel since the start of the war, except on diplomatic journeys. The sheer immensity of the world daunted her, and its threatening presence made her recoil in cowardice. She rationalized it ―duty kept her bound to the Citadel. But truth was, she intimately felt she'd let her people down. She could not bring herself to face them.

"…_Your grace_."

Her thoughts evaporated. She fixed a cool gaze on Auru and Renado. The latter was standing at the great windows, through which the sky was quickly colouring to bright hues of pink and orange. Auru, on his part, was standing at attention by her side.

"I'm sorry, Auru," she apologized sedately. "My mind is crowded."

The Admiral looked understanding. He repeated his inquiry. "Should I ready the battleship _Light _for your travel to Termina with Lord Dotour? Or would you rather have the flagship _Faron_?"

Dear Auru. She smiled softly and shook her head. "Whichever you can afford to spare, Auru."

He nodded curtly.

"A storm is brewing," Renado composedly said. He was looking at the crest of the Death Mountain range on the far eastern horizon, beyond the plains and fields. Indeed, clouds were massing this side of the range, high in the sky, swelled and dark. In the fading sunlight, they were highlighted with orange and bright pink, and hues of greyish purple.

It was beautiful.

"Nature does not concern itself with the troubles of people," Zelda sombrely said.

Renado turned his strong-featured, handsome face towards her. In the same calm voice, he said, "If you are leaving overnight for Termina, you'll be flying straight into its centre."

"It'll fit my mood, then," Zelda said, unpleasantly. Realising she was taking her frustration out on her trusted ally, she caught herself and apologized. "I'm sorry, Renado."

"Your mind is crowded," Renado said, in a tone that was both a warning and a pardon.

"Yes," she softly said, unconvinced. Her eyes found the storm clouds. She lost focus. Soon, she was staring back at her own desolate reflection. Tired eyes, golden hair hanging down, undecorated and tired dress, pallid skin. Her own solitude was taunting her. "Crowded," she breathed.

"Admiral Mage," a young corporal said from the door to the gathering room. He clicked his heels together smartly. "News from the_ Courage_."

Zelda wondered how and when the Citadel had become a military base. Auru Mage excused himself and Renado offered that she have dinner with him. It always ended up like this. A tired twenty-three year-old princess having her evening meal with her sole ally, a forty-two year-old lord.

She remembered the days of her childhood, when her now-deceased parents would have celebrations and parties. Balls and dances, men in smart uniforms, women in beautiful gowns…

Now the Citadel was a mere construction, tall and lonely and no longer lit by vibrant fireworks. Instead, its base was stained with grime and, she felt, blood, its proud white stone greyed and dull, a tombstone rather than a monument, in the middle of a dying land and a weakened city.

She needed air.

"I think I'll pass on dinner tonight," she softly said to Renado.

The man nodded, bowed out, and quietly left her to her thoughts. He was a considerate, experienced man, with wisdom and patience. She appreciated that. Lately, though, everything felt stale. She could taste blood in her mouth. It seemed like ages since she'd last felt true human joy, ages more since she'd last laughed.

She ran a hand over the tired silk of her dress. Stupid dress. Stupid clothes. Stupid protocol. Stupid clouds and stupid storms. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She wanted to scream; instead, she strode over to the door. The sun was gone beyond the horizon, a deep blue settling over the land and covering the receding red. Everything was cast shadows and red. Blood. It drove her up the walls. She hated this time of day.

"… It's likely they've retreated by now and are focusing their fire on holding off more incursions," an efficient young man's voice said, as she walked out into the hallway.

Of course. Auru Mage was not getting good news, evidently. A captain ―blonde, he wore an airman's jacket that he seemed uncomfortable in, she noticed in passing― was briefing him on western failures. Stupid war.

"Look, Sheik," a boy's voice said, in a whisper that echoed nonetheless in the hallway ―most likely one of the captain's flitters. "The sky! Everything is so clear from up here. It's beautiful, all red and blue like that."

Stupid boy. Stupid sky. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

She hurried her pace.

"You look miserable." The observation came to her when she burst into the library, almost breathless, unable to think rationally. Shad Knowing was reclining in a chair, a book held limply in his hand. He pushed his large, round glasses up on the bridge of his nose. He was a curious, fair-featured man with well-groomed chestnut locks and a definite aristocratic air. "Rupee for your thoughts?"

Wulf, her large dog, a mixed-breed creature that most servants found frightening and who was more protective of his mistress than most of the Hyrulian army, was lying on the carpet, his wild, intelligent face between his paws. He looked bored. As soon as she entered the room, he perked up and rushed up to her excitedly, his tail wagging and his tongue hanging.

"I'm not in the mood for small talk, Shad," Zelda said curtly, running nimble fingers through Wulf's furry collar. The dog didn't jump up ―she'd trained him not to slobber all over her or put his paws on her often expensive clothes. She fell into a thick armchair, fighting against the frustrated tears that had been welling up for no discernable reason in her eyes for the past few minutes.

Shad wordlessly put his book down and crossed a leg over the other, leaning back. Casually, he was offering an ear to listen.

"A storm is coming," she said, her voice cracking mid-sentence.

"I thought we weren't making small talk," Shad observed. He was a good friend, so she didn't bother to yell in frustration.

"I have a suspicion that Gerudo is lost for good," she said, rubbing Wulf behind his ear. "And I've just signed a treaty to make Hyrule Termina's cannon fodder," she said, in one breath.

"What else is new?" Shad asked, reaching for his book again. "So what will you do now?"

The tears spilled out and trailed down her cheeks. They trickled down her pale, inexpressive face. It was pure habit that kept her from breaking down. Her composure remained the same. "I don't know. I haven't had time to think about that yet. I'm leaving for Termina tonight. I'll think on my way there."

"I think," Shad mildly commented, "that you'd be better off getting some _sleep_ on your way there." He shot her a plain, critical once-over. "You direly need it."

"The sky is red," she said, and knew pertinently that it made no sense to say this to Shad. What did he know of the sky and her mood? He was a friend, not a mind reader.

"Yes, but the oncoming storm will cover it," Shad commented abstractedly. He was trying to soothe her, but fresh tears poured down her cheeks, unnoticed.

'I drown in the stars below,' she wanted to say, but that made even less sense. Something overwhelmed her. She miserably breathed, "I do not know who I am anymore."

There was something truly painful about those words. Something of a fatality, like she had just pronounced her own death sentence. How, indeed, could anyone properly live their lives without knowing their place?

"And again," Shad responded, "what will you do?"

Her fingers were scratching at Wulf's fur, to the dog's delight. She said, "I don't know."

She couldn't do anything that would work and still be proper. She was Princess Zelda of Hyrule, protector of the people and defender of the Hylian Alliance. Who was she to hesitate? Her role was noble, and her duty commanded nothing less but complete obedience to that role.

Stupid duty.

"I have to stop the war." That was, she knew _how_. But the prospect was terrifying, and definitely not guaranteed to work. It seemed as likely as being allowed by etiquette to whore herself out on the streets of Castleton: not very.

"A righteous goal. How will you do that, concretely?" She knew Shad was directing her thoughts, helping her to come into her own.

It was worthless, because she was bound by duty.

"Never mind that. I have to go to Termina on a military ship and pray that it will actually make a change," she said. Shad tisked, but she ignored him. "It's true. I am headed nowhere. I can strive to bring peace, but if no one wants it…"

"I take it you're not fond of Ganondorf Dragmire," Shad mildly concluded, his eyes riveted to his book. "Not that I blame you. The man ruined your ancestors' age-old work in the span of a year."

"Princess."

Zelda nearly groaned out loud. Wulf's pleased expression turned into annoyance when she stopped scratching him. She turned to the library doors. Auru Mage was standing there, at attention.

"Auru," she greeted, her composure unfailing.

"News from the west and from the south," the Admiral grimly announced. "The west is lost. Defences will be put up strong in the Gerudo Canyon, but we will not be able to reclaim it until we can free up some other fronts."

Zelda shot Shad a brief glance, and the scholar merely raised a brow. Turning back to Auru, she asked, "How many dead?"

Auru Mage shook his head. "I've not inquired. Detailed reports will come in tomorrow."

Of course… Military men could not afford to weep for every gone soul. Though her heart ached and she felt ill, she nodded slowly. "And what of the south?" Her question was careful, and she tried to hold back the sickening taste of blood from poisoning her mouth.

The balding Admiral looked grim. "News from Rutela in the islands. Suspicious activity in the Waker Sky, I was told. We have advised our Marine Forces to keep an eye out."

The princess nodded. "Very well. Thank you."

"The_ Light_ is ready for your travel. We await your presence."

"Thank you, Auru."

Auru Mage knew when he was dismissed. He curtly bowed and left. Zelda's mood had never been this low. Wulf, sensing her sadness, put his lupine head on her knee and whined plaintively, a sound so low that it was almost unheard. She absently scratched at the dog's head.

Shad looked up when he heard her sniffle. She was trying hard not to break into sobs, but tears were flowing down her cheeks. He put his book down, stood, and walked over to her armchair. His hand came to her shoulder supportively.

A long silence passed, broken only by her choked breaths. Finally, Shad said, "If I may suggest something?"

She did not respond, but she was listening.

"Well, of course I wouldn't want to be considered the instigator of rebellious behaviour but… excuse me while I ask why you're going to Termina when there is something to be done in the Waker Islands…?"

Her blue eyes met his dark blue ones. He was carefully neutral, the grey and violet specks in his eyes almost invisible in the dim light, but she knew they were there.

Dear Shad. Such a kind soul. Such a strong, protective friend. When she needed a brother's arms, he was the whole body and the soothing chuckle of amusement at once. When she needed a shove forward, he was the encouraging fanfare. Dear Shad.

She smiled sadly at him, and he saw her new, if weak, resolve.

Rather than answer him, she asked, "You'll remember to take care of Wulf while I'm gone, won't you, Shad?"

The scholar sighed. "I always do."

She nodded, her look resigned. She stood. "Duty calls."

"What will you do?" He did not say it, but his question was actually 'How can I help?'

Zelda sighed. She looked around at the rows upon rows of books. The library was a haven to them both, a million worlds of evasion inside four protective walls.

To Shad, she admitted, "Whatever must be done will be done. Find yourself some reliable flitters. I will meet _you_," her eyes insisted on the secrecy of her plan, "in Lon Lon village."

"How?"

"I haven't figured that out yet."

With those words, she exited the library.


	3. 1-3 - The Thief

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 3: THE THIEF**

* * *

><p><em>17<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>Merchant district_

"Look!" Colin said, excitedly, pointing the sky as the last hues of red turned into dark blue, "the battleship _Light_!"

Link glanced up at the Citadel. From the streets of Castleton, the tower of the Citadel seemed like a monolith, stretched and reaching for the stars. The city's fires and the dying sunlight faintly lighted it from below. Detaching itself from the high-rise landing platform midway up, the large battleship _Light_ was slowly hovering away. Even from so high up, its powerful hovercrafts created gusts of wind all the way down in the city streets, and Link felt them caress his face and blow away the smell of fuel.

"The _Light_," Sheik appreciatively said, his hands casually shoved in his pockets. "Airship of Admiral Mage himself."

Link wordlessly nodded, looking unimpressed. He averted his eyes from the sight of the departing airship and focused it on his take-out box of grilled mushrooms. Sheik scowled a little.

"Skies, those mushrooms look disgusting."

Link smiled between bites. He was the only one in their team to enjoy Odd Mushrooms. "Good thing you're not eating them yourself then, huh?"

Sheik snorted derisively. Colin looked down at his paper cone of boiled meat thoughtfully. They couldn't afford much more, but it was celebratory: the Admiral himself had given them paid leave for a full week, on account of their crucial four-hour messenger trip, until Impa Shade's fleet returned. Link had ordered grilled mushrooms for himself, seasoned meat for Colin ―at the young man's shy demand―, and roasted nuts for Sheik. It was a frugal meal, but it tasted delicious.

"You don't suppose the bad news upset him?" Sheik mused as he looked at the massive shape of the _Light_ flying away. "Maybe he's in a hurry to get away?"

"I don't know," Link replied. "Nor do I care. Are you going to eat that?"

Sheik pulled his cone of food closer to him and glared. "Yes, I am." He relaxed a little then asked, "Well. What will we do for a full week?"

Link shrugged. "I was thinking of heading home for a while. Visit grandma and Aryll to assure them I'm still alive and kicking."

Sheik pursed his lips. "Taking the Flit with you, then?"

Link kept himself from wincing. It was true that taking their only means of travel meant he deprived his mechanic and navigator of any choice of destination. "You're welcome to visit."

Sheik shook his head. "Why not? It's that, or staying here, in Castleton."

"Maybe you should," the young captain teased his mechanic. "Don't bother coming. Stay in the red-light district like the man-whore you are."

The red-eyed mechanic's eyes narrowed threateningly. "Can it, Forester. I could cut the oil line to the Flit's emergency hovercraft."

Link snorted derisively as Colin took an unbothered bite of his food. Link and Sheik were adults, but they often bickered like middle school children.

"You wouldn't hurt the Flit even to save your life," Link said. He then turned to Colin before Sheik could add anything. "What about you? Your father would have my head if I left you in Sheik's care ―" he glanced at his mechanic as the man sulked "―or lack there-of."

"Oh, piss off, Forester."

"You're proving my point, you know."

"I'd like to come with you, if that's not a bother," Colin said, his eyes betraying his excitement, despite his training. "I've never been to Waker before."

"You're welcome to follow," his captain calmly said. "Grandma always complains that I don't bring along any friends."

Colin tried not to glow with pride. The mere fact that the captain would consider him a friend seemed enough to make him grin shamelessly.

Sheik nudged the youngest of the trio and softly mumbled "I don't suggest you make eye contact with his sister though. If he so much as suspects that you're interested in her, he'll throttle you to an inch of your life."

Colin's eyes widened. Sheik wasn't one to give advice lightly. He was about to ask a question, but Link cut in, having clearly overheard his mechanic's words.

"That," Link said, narrowing his eyes, "is because I don't want her dating soldiers." His gaze softened into something indiscernible, but he didn't add anything more. Then, lightly, he added, "I mean, skies, have you seen yourself?"

Sheik was silent for a while, but he eventually shook his head and snorted, mumbling to himself. He then shovelled a handful of roasted nuts into his mouth.

The city of Castleton was changing garbs for the night. The market, shops and stalls were closing up in favour of pubs, bars and lounges for those who lived by streetlight. The disorganized streets tangled in a dark maze of varied pavements. Everything had been built over time, piled and twisted into a jumble of eras, the kind that grew steadily and never improved. Often, a quaint medieval hall turned into a monstrous industrial construction, which then became a neo-modern hangar for commercial carriers. But you could still see the first stones, dirtied and blackened. Cobblestones mingled as easily with asphalt, cement and metal as slate roofs mixed with brick, steel and domes.

As the sky darkened steadily, Colin felt his guard go up. He was not unaccustomed to foreign cities, but every one of them made him uneasy nonetheless.

Still, in Link and Sheik's company, he was safer than if he'd been alone.

Link had been to Castleton often before, mostly on military business, though he'd also chosen the city as a resting place― in happier times. He found that war had turned an otherwise bustling and welcoming city into a dark, grim, pessimistic place. He didn't enjoy it.

Also, someone had just stolen his wallet.

Eyes flashing in annoyance, the young captain's hand shot out and caught the burglar by his collar. Sheik and Colin, who had gotten ahead by a few steps, turned back when they heard the surprised gurgling sound of someone whose shirt-collar had not quite followed the rest of their body.

Link brought his face close to the young thief's disgruntled face, and was mildly surprised. It was boy, perhaps Colin's age or a little younger, with smart blue eyes and a dirty face. Blonde hair that hadn't been cut in a while fell into his face, and he brought a hand to push them aside.

"Wallet, please," Link demanded, outstretching his hand.

The pickpocket scowled and played dumb. "I dunno where your wallet is."

"I think you do," Link corrected, his annoyance fanned into a glare, "and you've got some nerve to lie when my wallet is right there in your coat pocket." He reached for his belongings, but the boy struggled and was about to make a scene, when the captain leaned in and said, menacingly, "Go on. Make a ruckus. I'm sure the shopkeepers around here will be eager to see your ratty face."

It was a little unfair of a statement. The kid wasn't ugly ―just dirty. In proper clothes and after a bath, he'd probably look presentable. Maybe.

The boy paled, and Link plucked his wallet out of the young thief's pocket. "Oh, look. I'm picking your pocket," he said, sarcastically. "Consider us even." And he let go of the thief's collar, making the boy stumble backwards, shell-shocked.

"Nobody's caught me before," he admitted. "You going to report me?"

Link snorted. "City guards have nothing on me."

It was then that the young pickpocket seemed to notice Link's military badges, as relaxed and loose as the rest of the uniform happened to be. His clear blue eyes widened, but there was no way he hadn't known Link was military. He had intelligent, clear eyes… for a runt. They contrasted with the dirty cheeks and dark clothes.

"You're…" He squinted as he examined Link's badge. "In the Air Force?"

Link furrowed a brow. Since when did they teach military insignias to children?

As if he'd forgotten that he had almost robbed Link, the boy gushed. "I bet you got one of 'em flitters waiting for you back in the military hangar, huh?"

"Flits," Link corrected, "and actually―"

"With the door marked with a big, white '3' and a security code of twenty-eight seventy-four, huh?" The boy grinned, his previously admiring eyes narrowing into knowing, almost scary awareness.

Before Link could get over his shock, the boy stepped backwards, into a side street, and vanished with a broad, victorious grin and parting words of, "See ya!"

Sheik jogged up. "What in the skies was that all about?"

Link, feeling something akin to dread crawl into his gut, suddenly searched all his pockets, one after the other, frantically, and before he was even done, realisation dawned on him.

He turned to Sheik and Colin, who were looking at him with questioning eyes. Stunned and in a growing-state of unease, he bluntly announced the bad news. "That kid just stole the Flit's ignition keys."

There was a stunned pause.

And then they ran.

Link was grateful that the streets, at night, were growing deserted. It made running that much easier. The boy couldn't be so far ahead.

Still, it was a foolish race, because no doubt the boy knew more about the city than all three of them combined, and how did a street kid even know about the Flit? He'd probably followed them from their hangar, spied on their security number, and then waited for the perfect opportunity to steal the keys from Link.

But… Why? It didn't make sense for a young boy like that to seek to steal a Flit. It was unlikely he could pilot it out of the hangar, let alone fly it. If he was hoping to sell its pieces, perhaps…

"There he is!" Colin called, running ahead of them. Link's eyes focused on the blonde thief's sprinting form as he jumped over a closed stall and darted into a tunnelling side street. They all turned sharply and pressed themselves into it, hoping that they'd finally catch the kid, who was running from them with all the speed adrenalin could give him.

It was dark out and the neighbourhood was grittier than the one where they'd first caught him. A single light in the middle of the tunnel's arched ceiling cast weak shadows all over the walls.

Link caught the thief's shirt again, and this time, rather than just hold him back, wrestled him to the ground, despite the boy's pained screams. There was no one to hear them, and Link preferred it that way. He reached for the boy's wrists and put a knee to his back.

"Find the keys," he told Sheik, who had caught up with them. The mechanic was about to search the boy's coat when Colin cried out an inaudible warning and Link was knocked off the thief's back by the boy's buckling, his feet kicking him hard. Sheik was quick enough to catch the thief again before he could get away.

"Lemme go!" Their young captive screamed, and he kicked Link in the shin, then stepped on Sheik's feet. The sergeant gritted his teeth and gave the boy a rough shake to remind him of who was in charge.

"I believe," he finally said when he was sure the boy wouldn't get away again, "that you have something of ours."

The blonde boy just glared and stuck out his tongue.

Link growled low in his throat. "What's your name?"

Though the boy was sullen at first, he finally bit out a single word. "Kidd."

"We're gonna take our keys back. No funny business."

Kidd's blue eyes filled with anger. "You don't understand―"

"Sheik."

Sheik looked down at the blonde thief he was holding. "Where are they?"

Kidd mumbled something inaudible.

"I'm sorry," Sheik said, giving him a little shake, "Where _are_ they?"

"In my coat _pocket_," Kidd growled, a bit louder, begrudgingly.

"Thank you kindly," Sheik said. He reached into the boy's pocket and pulled out a set of magnetic keys. He nodded at Link.

Satisfied, Link motioned for Sheik to loosen his hold on the thief. "There then. That wasn't so hard."

Kidd let out a few choice expletives, shoved off Sheik's grip and ran off.

Suddenly, he stopped in his tracks, then turned. To Link's surprise, Kidd stared at him without hesitation, his blue eyes sharp and determined. But he said nothing, and turned on his heel, as though he'd only aimed to memorize Link's face.

The three men could only stare after the departing boy, stunned speechless, still standing in the dimly lit tunnel.


	4. 1-4 - The Naval Officer

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 4: THE NAVAL OFFICER**

* * *

><p><em>17<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker Sky Principality, off the coast of Dragon Roost Island<br>Guardian Coalition Ship _Wind Fish

Captain Dark Knight knew something was up. When you had served long enough, you were generally apt to judge swiftly and take everything in stride.

He didn't appreciate that Commander Agahnim Veils had summoned him in to talk about his next assignment with curt and clipped tones, like Dark had done something wrong. Of course, Dark Knight considered any discourtesy an affront to his greatness, but one thing was sure, there had definitely been something bothering the Guardian Navy command and it had made his commander nasty.

"Are you sulking?" came the icy question of Gerudo captain Aveil Thieves, quite possibly the only thing worthy of being looked at on this damned piece of floating metal everyone liked to call the_ Wind Fish_.

The _Wind Fish_ was an ocean battle cruiser, and it doubled as one of the few aircraft carriers stationed off Dragon Roost Island, one of the forward-most advances of the Guardian forces in Waker. They had been sitting there, waiting for the others troops to catch up further south to reinforce the line moving in on Rutela's Waker Sea Principality. Boredom was their worst enemy at the moment.

Dark gave Aveil an appraising smirk. She was wearing her burgundy uniform so smartly that it hardly revealed any skin. White gloves, dark boots, high-collar. Boring. If it hadn't been for the well-defined waist and the relatively tight pants, he'd have probably forgotten what a woman looked like.

"Sulking?" He asked. "Why would I be sulking when I can look at you?" He paused then asked, "Is that a whip or just a crop?"

The female captain looked at what she was holding ―an oscilloscope part, he presumed; the woman loved machines more than people― then shot him a warning glare. "It's none of your business, and for the record, I don't recall you ever being allowed to make advances on female crew. It's against the rules."

"Woe is me," Dark sarcastically said, still smirking. "You have found my weakness. Cursed be those darned rules."

Aveil rolled her eyes. "The Commander asked me to give this to you earlier." She handed him a map with a few symbols on it, but Dark alone held the cipher. "He also said you're to leave as soon as you're packed."

Dark's brow rose, sceptical. "No more details? What's the rush?"

"I wouldn't know," Aveil snapped suddenly, shooting him a malevolent, biting glare. Dark smirked.

"Oh, he didn't _tell_ you, did they?" He shot her a pitying face. "Poor Aveil," he baby-talked.

She glared at him, simmering, but ultimately cooled off by slamming the door behind her as she left. Dark rubbed his nape casually, amused. Teasing Aveil had a fun quality to it that few people could truly appreciate, probably because she shot anyone foolish enough to mock her.

"I knew I did well to bonk her at the Academy," he mumbled smugly to himself, turning his attention to the map.

Come to think of it, it was an odd mission for Agahnim Veils to entrust to him. Secrecy was not completely unusual for his missions, but he'd never been asked to complete a task alone, and without even knowing all its components or variables.

Something was going on in the higher ranks of the Guardian Coalition and he was being moved like a pawn at its every whim. The thought was unappealing. He was a free spirit, after all. He glanced at his neatly shined shoes and snorted derisively to himself.

"Free spirit. Yeah. Right."

He glanced at the map again. Maybe even Agahnim Veils didn't know the whole picture. It would explain his temper.

The trajectory was clear. He'd merely have to enter the coordinates in his navigator's computer and he'd be set. It didn't make sense, though. As far as he could see, the point was at the extreme northwest edge of the Waker Archipelago. It roughly corresponded with Ganondorf Dragmire's old ocean fortress, something like…

The Forsaken Fortress.

Dark cocked his head to the side, watching in his mind as pieces came together sluggishly.

The name was enough to make lesser men tremble, which was, in Dark's opinion, utter foolishness. The fortress wasn't even in real use that anyone knew of anymore, yet it still made grown sailors shake in their beds at night. Legends had it something evil, corrupted and cruel resided there, something that made day into pitch-blackness, which explained the perpetual night and the yearlong storms that battered it ceaselessly.

Dark wasn't one for superstition, much less cowardice. He'd mock that very fear. How could any mere thing rival with him in terms of evil? He would make sailors curse him and call jinxes.

He smirked and snickered. Cuckoos.

A blinking light came on next to him. Someone was calling him, long-distance. Unusual. He accepted the call and returned to planning his trip. He'd be carrying cargo to an unknown destination, so he might as well pack more than necessary, in case.

"Evening."

Dark looked up at the noisy screen of his transmitter, wondering why there was so much interference. Usually, the image was clearer.

There was no mistaking his caller, though. He'd recognize those breasts anywhere, no matter the amount of interference and static, for having ogled them enough back at the Military Academy. Nabooru Spirit, captain in the Guardian Air Force, was the only woman who'd not only put up with his numerous flirting tactics without succumbing but also taught him how to prepare amazing cocktails. And fly.

He smiled and nodded at the eye of his camera in acknowledgment. "Evening."

"How are you, Capt―"

"The line's scrambled, Nabooru," he interrupted without even looking up.

"Oh." The redheaded Gerudo seemed taken short. Still, she sighed and said, a smile audible in her voice, "Well, alright then. How've you been, Dark?"

He grinned at her. "As well as can be expected from within a tin box in the middle of a pond." He arched both brows. "You'd be surprised by the view. Completely unexpected, I know, but all around, for miles and miles, there's _water_, Nabooru. Water. And not one drop good to drink. Who'd have thought the Navy would be so masochistic?"

She laughed, the sound crackled over the airwaves, then said, disgust evident, "Do I feel sorry for you, buddy. Around here, there's sand for miles and miles."

He looked up from his map. Nabooru had always preferred inlands to the open oceans. With mild interest, he asked, "Oh? You're in the desert?" He reached for a topographical atlas that lay beneath the mess gathering on his desk. "Let me guess. Border of Hyrule and Twilight?" He leafed through the worn pages and found the area.

"Too good a guess to _be_ a guess," Nabooru said.

Dark smirked. "We got news of your advance an hour ago. I was going to call later tonight for congratulations."

"Oh," Nabooru teased, "you're too kind."

He chuckled, then asked, when the noise on his screen doubled for a moment, "Is it just my end, or is the connection―"

"Night brought a nasty sandstorm," Nabooru curtly explained. "That's why there's interference. It's keeping us all cooped in... Those of us that made it, at least. So many of our men were stranded out there in the desert…" There was a pause. He averted his eyes, out of respect for her choked silence. When she'd composed herself, Nabooru continued, "No point searching for them anymore, I reckon. The battle was hard-fought. The Hylian Alliance has got quality pilots on its side, but no quantity."

"That's the Hylian Alliance for you," Dark said. "All good intentions and no means to uphold them."

Nabooru was silent for a moment, as if recollecting something, then wonderingly said, "A single Hylian Flit left one of the main airships late in the battle, weaved through the airfield, and took down one of our best dogfighters in less than fifteen minutes. A total loss, pilot and co-pilot dead. I couldn't believe my eyes. It was near suicide on the Flit's part."

Dark's expression was grim. "Despair will do that to a person, even a military type."

Nabooru shook her head. "There was nothing desperate about it. It was almost cheeky. Either the pilot's got the hap of gods or he's the most talented ass-wipe aviator this side of the sky."

Dark tutted. "You're demeaning yourself. You're a good pilot too."

Nabooru shrugged. "Well, I still got honours for my operation. The Admiral was busy in Holodrum, so I had to assume his position." The Admiral, or Ganondorf Dragmire, was foremost the Air Commander of the Guardian Coalition. "We've claimed the west of Hyrule, but the Hylian Alliance solidified their defences in the Canyon… and now this damn sandstorm. Sands, it's almost as if the goddesses don't want us in Hyrule at all."

"Maybe they don't want their children fighting," Dark shrugged. "Either way, the bickering is too far-gone to be stopped. Either Hyrule and its remaining allies surrender, or Ganondorf Dragmire tears them all down, and we're in for the ride."

"You don't like him much," Nabooru insinuatingly commented, "do you?"

"Who?" Dark returned to his map, playing dumb.

"Ganondorf. Admiral Dragmire."

"That's a gross assumption. I dislike both sides in this conflict. Present company excluded, of course."

Nabooru knew better than to ask why he was participating in the military if he hated both sides equally. He didn't like thinking about it, but Dark had no other place in the world, and the pay grade was worth it.

Nabooru avoided the topic altogether. She wasn't fond of war either, but she liked the notion of democracy that the Guardian Coalition was pushing for. "What are you studying?" She suddenly asked. "What's that map? It's a map, right?"

"It's a map, yes, with coordinates to Ganny's secret fortress of doom. I'm to pick up cargo there, solo. Not that you heard anything from me."

"Heard what?" She asked. Dark smirked. She continued, "What do you think he's planning?"

Dark shrugged uncaringly. "Beats me. All that matters is that I get my pay check and that I do not get annihilated by the battles to come."

"Says the man who participated in the eradication of Great Fish Isle. We all heard about it. The Hylian Alliance is biting its nails over that one."

He snorted, his laugh a concession. "I'd have to be insane to seek pride in that. I was following orders. In peace time, they'd call it a mass murder." He felt something that stank of guilt eating at his gut, and pushed it aside with some difficulty. "It had to be done," he explained. "Great Fish was too far west and too strongly armed to let it fester in our lines." It was the drivel the high command had told them, but sometimes he imagined the dead eyes of the civilians they'd bombarded, and it didn't feel right. "Anyway," he said, lightly, "You're by far the better captain of us."

Nabooru made the usual noise of thanks, but her mind was elsewhere. She frowned at the news of his latest mission. "It's a bit strange to be sent solo in that place. I heard it was abandoned."

Dark shot her a mild glare. "If you're going to give me more superstitious nonsense―"

She laughed. "That's not what I meant." She hesitated then said, quickly, as if confiding something she shouldn't have shared, "I think you ought to know. I heard over an interference radio that Admiral Commander Dragmire spoke to Princess Midna Black about receiving a secret weapon from the south, and something about finding a powerful force. I didn't hear the whole thing."

Dark Knight's expression soured. "So Princess Midna Black is really on Ganny's side, huh?"

"Well, obviously," Nabooru answered, mildly confused. "You doubted it? She separated herself willingly from the Hylian Alliance after the Scission, remember? Her Artificial Design… What's his name? Zant Grim? He claimed on behalf of the royal family that it had grown too weak to serve Twilight's interests."

Dark shrugged. "I never thought she'd be so actively involved in Ganny's plots, that's all."

"I didn't know you had an opinion on her motives," Nabooru teased. "But I can't blame you for keeping an eye on her; what was that? Legs that go on forever?"

He laughed. "Right."

Nabooru's laughter softened, died out. Seriously, she asked, "Dark, what do you really think of Admiral Dragmire?"

He didn't answer at first. He glanced at his clock; it indicated eight at night. "Hey," he noted, "I have to get started on my departure preparations, Nabooru. I hope you don't mind if―"

"Dark," she hastily pleaded, "just say it. Off the record."

"What does it matter?" he asked, defensive. "I'm getting my work done."

"Off the record, Dark. Your insight is usually accurate."

Dark pursed his lips. "If Dragmire really wants to guard the future of our world and its people, I'm all for it." He stood, reached for the line termination switch, and smiled at his friend. After gathering his thoughts, he said, "But the means…" In his mind's eye, he saw the red heat of explosions sending Great Fish's beaches skyward. "He's not using the cleanest methods. That says something of him. I think." Dark clicked his boots together. "Now, if you'll excuse me." The switch was flicked to 'off'.

He had to pack. He had much to do.

Nabooru's call had not cleared things up, on the contrary. The secrets apparently ran deeper than he'd first assumed. It'd be interesting to unravel those particular threads. If Ganondorf Dragmire expected a secret weapon, if he, a captain, had to transport an unidentified cargo, if Hyrule was on the defensive…

The future would be very tumultuous indeed.


	5. 1-5 - The Rescuers

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 5: THE RESCUERS**

* * *

><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>Ocarina Hostel_

Colin disliked storms. The one that raged over the Hyrule plains was moving north and it was already drizzling ominously over the citadel. The skies and all their stars were veiled by a thick, grumbling mass of heavy black clouds. He could see, in the distance, from their hostel balcony, the vast expanse of the fields, in the lightning flashes of light, pelted by hail, blown by powerful winds.

Sheik came out onto the balcony, took a look at the threatening weather, and said, "Bad night for flitting, isn't it?"

"The Admiral's ship was headed straight into the heart of it," Colin observed, uneasy. "I'm sure even _the Light_ will have trouble with this one."

"Don't worry," Link confidently suggested, putting a hand to the navigator's shoulder. "Big ships have little to fear."

In the storm, something flickered. A dart of peculiar lights was weaving between the stormy clouds, flying erratically. Realisation dawned on the three young men, followed by dread.

"There's a Flit!" Colin exclaimed, watching the engine's minuscule taillights vanishing in a column of thick rain in the distance. As far as they could see, the tiny aircraft was being bombarded by gales no ship was supposed to endure. "What's a Flit doing out there, Link?"

The captain looked uneasy. "That pilot is a fool." No sane person would go out in this weather. Somewhere in the city, a lightning rod caught a brilliant flash of blue light, and thunder exploded all around them.

The storm was covering the northern planes of Hyrule as far as the eye could see. They lost sight of the Flit for a moment, but it reappeared, shakily trying to maintain its southbound course.

"It's headed into the heart of the storm," Colin exclaimed. "What is wrong with it?" Even Link knew better than to pilot a Flit in such dangerous conditions if he could avoid it.

Thunder struck on the lightning rod atop their building. The lights flickered, something in the whole edifice screamed, as if pained and surprised, the light outside was blinding for long agonizing seconds, and the simultaneous sound was deafening, like a war explosion. Link pulled Sheik and Colin back away from the balcony edge as a last minute reflex, and they collapsed in shock inside the room they'd rented. The skies tore open, and a thick curtain of rain fell over the city, broken by a startling number of grounded bolts.

Colin, once he recovered, hurried back to the door. "… I can't see the Flit anymore," he remarked, anguished.

From within the clouds, a trail of light appeared. It was the Flit, and it was falling. Something had struck it ―lightning― and its engine had failed. It was crashing to the ground at a great speed. They lost sight of it when it disappeared behind a small hill. There was a bright flash. Then nothing.

Colin gasped, his eyes wide in horror.

A loud beep startled them. Sheik glanced at the monitor they'd plugged onto their long-distance custom alarm system.

He sharply glanced at Link, and his tone was urgent. "Someone broke into our hangar."

The crashed Flit vanished momentarily from their thoughts. There was no time to waste. They ran out the door, grabbing the keys and wallets as they went. Link cursed the whole way out of the room and down the stairs and out into the street. Rain had already filled the gutters and they were overflowing. The streets were deserted. Flashes and crashes from above reminded them of their folly. Link pulled his uniform jacket over his head and started running, closely trailed by his mechanic and navigator.

Sheik's platinum blonde hair was falling into his face in matted tendrils, and he kept pushing them out of the way. In the rain, Colin had trouble not to slip. It was normally a five-minute walk to the military hangar, but at the speed they were running, two minutes were more than enough.

As they'd dreaded, the hangar door was open, gaping like a fish, revealing its contents to the whole world, a dark, cold mouth of blackness. The rain was still pouring, and they were soaked through.

The moment they entered the hangar, breathless, the lack of rain left them vulnerable to the cold. Colin shivered uncomfortably.

A bright flash of lightning somewhere near the row of hangars illuminated the inside enough for them to see by for a few seconds. The Flit was still there, apparently and thankfully untouched.

Link removed his gun from its holster, aiming at the dark shadows cast by crates and mechanical equipment. His heart was pumping against his soaked skin and clothes, he felt shaky and ready to shoot anyone who got near their only worthwhile possession. They kept all their belongings in there, taking only their wallets with them, even at the hotel.

"Maybe they expected something else," Colin suggested, going around the Flit, which was in pristine condition.

"I swear," he said, out loud, to his companions, "if that thief kid from earlier even tried to steal our Flit―"

There was a series of splashes outside, footfalls. Someone was running in the rain. He turned to focus his aim on the gaping hangar door while Sheik set about exploring the rest of the hangar. The rain was still pouring in sheets outside, a thick, dark grey mist all over.

A dark figure appeared, leaned against the side of the door, apparently having run a long distance at a breathless speed. It was followed closely by a large wolf-like dog. Link could hear the panting from far inside the hangar. He didn't appreciate intruders.

"Who's there?" Link called. "Name yourself!"

The figure was hooded, wearing a long raincoat, and carried a small bag. The person took a few steps inside the hangar, and Link released the safety catch on his gun. All movement stilled.

"I asked," Link growled," that you name yourself."

The wolf-dog's low growl could hardly be heard, but there was no doubt that even the animal could sense the threat. The figure tensely showed its hands, indicating its innocence, and raised them to lower his hood.

It was a bespectacled young man, with aristocratic features, indigo eyes, thick, wavy auburn locks. He seemed harmless enough, but Link wasn't in the mood to believe in innocence. He kept his gun trained on the stranger.

"My name…" The young man panted, his breath forming a small cloud in the humid, cold air, "… is Shad… Knowing…"

"There's no one else," Sheik reported, jogging back to Link, who still hadn't lowered his aim. "Hangar's as empty as when we left it earlier today."

"You have an aircraft," Shad Knowing breathed, a defined trace of hope and desperation mixed in his eyes. "Please…" He swallowed his saliva, trying to catch his breath, and bent over, placing his hands on his knees, gasping for air. "Please," he wheezed. "I need your help."

The dog's large muzzle came with a low whine to sniff at Shad Knowing's tired form, almost worried.

"Are you the one who opened the hangar door?" Link curtly asked. No one messed with the Flit, ever.

Shad Knowing shook his head. "We don't have time―"

"We have plenty of time," Link sharply interrupted. "Answer me." He thrust his gun up a little, reminding their unwanted guest of who was in charge.

"No. You don't understand―"

"_Did you open the hangar door_?" Link asked again, louder.

"No," Shad said, his eyes flashing in annoyance and despair. "No, I didn't! I saw it was open and came in. I need a pilot. This is urgent business!"

Sheik put a hand on Link's shoulder, motioning for him to lower his weapon, eyeing the large canine at the intruder's side. Link wasn't trigger-happy, but he was protective of their only means of transport. "There's no one else. They'll have run off when they saw there was nothing else of worth but a Flit to which they didn't have the keys."

Link lowered his gun, locked it again. But he didn't holster it.

"You," he called, to the aristocrat ―the man spoke with an educated tone― who was still watching them in a mix of wariness and despair. "What do you want with us?"

Glad that he was finally being given an opportunity to explain himself, Shad Knowing spoke rapidly, "A friend of mine just sent me a message. She foolishly decided to abandon the… And then she's…" He kept stopping himself, like there were things he could not say. Finally, he gathered his thoughts and outright demanded, heatedly, "I must find her. She crashed in the fields south of the city. Please, help me find her. I fear she may be dead." His voice shook on the last word, cracked, and there was no mistaking his fear. "I will pay for all your expenses. Please."

Thunder exploded over the city again, the rain was still coming down. Link looked at Sheik's carefully neutral face and Colin's horrified expression.

"That Flit in the field…"

"So I gathered," Link guardedly commented. He focused his attention on the cloaked Shad Knowing again. "If you have any weapons on your person, remove them. Now."

Shad looked broken-hearted, but he finally relented. He removed an ornate gun, which Link estimated to be worth a lot of rupees, a short-sword, and a knife from his boot. The weapons clanged on the floor, echoing in the cold hangar. Shad Knowing looked sincere enough when he said, "Those are all my weapons. Please, can we hurry?"

Link glanced at Sheik, who exhaled, resigned. The lupine dog was still somewhat crouched, ready to attack. Colin was nowhere to be seen. Link turned to the Flit. The door was open, and someone was moving around in it. The engine was turned on and humming.

Colin popped his head out of the Flit's door. "Well? What are you waiting for? Someone might be dying out there!"

Link glanced back at Shad Knowing, then at Sheik, and finally sighed. To Shad, he said, "Get in; but stay back. The dog better have a leash or he stays here. If you ever interfere, you're dead." He motioned to his handgun then holstered it. To Sheik, he curtly commanded, "Take his weapons, then make sure the engines are warm enough and that the oil feed is steady enough for this weather."

Sheik nodded, picking up Shad Knowing's weapons, under the aristocrat's scrunched nose, and headed off to perform his system check. Link took a deep, steadying breath, then climbed into the Flit, grumbling.

"Of all the damned times… and in this bloody storm too… need a promotion and quick…"

Colin was already calculating drawing up regional maps from the internal computer. He looked up when Link sat in his pilot seat and exhaled. "Captain. We need to stay low and out of lightning reach."

"I could have guessed," Link mumbled, pushing the hovercrafts to two, nodding to Sheik when the mechanic gave him the go-ahead and securely closed the door behind him, seating himself next to the nervous, silent Shad. The massive grey and white dog was scouting the small free space of the cockpit, stopping to whine a little at the door to the storage bench, but otherwise surprisingly harmless.

"Hovercrafts on two FGU… three… Propeller on two… four…"

"We're clear."

The Flit rose off the hangar floor obediently, and glided towards the gaping door. Sheik handed Shad a spare headset. The rain was loudly pelting the cockpit windows and its canopy relentlessly; the hovercrafts were loudly humming. Link grumbled something inaudible under his breath.

"Hovercrafts on four stable FGU." The Flit lifted off and away from the ground, steadily. The storm raged all around them. "Pushing to five; propeller on six. We'll hurry out of the city and lower ourselves once we're clear."

"Understood," Colin said, looking a little pale and worried. Link glanced at him and smiled reassuringly, his begrudging expression melting away.

"Don't worry," he assured his navigator. "As much as I hate flitting during storms, I've done it before, and this is small beer in comparison to storms in Waker."

Soon, the Flit was hovering over the rooftops, brushing them and trying to avoid the high peaks. There was so much rain that it fell in a watery curtain over the canopy, making it difficult to see anything at all. Link was forced to refer almost exclusively to Colin's proximity radar, a fact that made both he and his navigator nervous. Colin was unaccustomed to providing obvious directions― Link always pulled them off on his own― and Link hated not being in control or not seeing what was going on.

"A notch higher, there's an air vent ahead. After that, take a left or you'll hit an antenna."

Sheik, on his part, was constantly checking the oil gauges, wondering how much fighting against strong winds would burn of it. Shad Knowing, holding on to the dog's leash, was sitting, pale-faced, knuckles white, in his seat, trying to stay calm and silent, as Link had ordered him to be. Sheik glanced at him.

"They're going as fast as they can," he said, patiently. "You're already lucky enough that we're always willing to help fellow flitters, even ones stupid enough to fly during storms."

Shad merely nodded, his face drawn in anxiety. Sheik presumed he wasn't at ease in Flits; it was best for their guest to keep his mouth shut.

"Twenty altitude," Colin said. "After that, we're clear of the city walls and you can lower back to three FGU."

Link looked relieved. "I'll speed up in the fields to clear the window."

He did just that. Soon, the propeller was loudly boosting them forward and the fields passed by under them at great speed. The water that hit the cockpit was just as soon blown off. They stayed as low as possible. Often, lightning would hit the ground or start fires in trees. Link could swear it was the thunderstorm of the century.

"Seems like Nature doesn't want us leaving our place," Sheik commented mildly.

"No kidding," Link answered uneasily. "This fool of a pilot better be alive. I'm not doing all this just for a corpse."

Shad swallowed his saliva nervously. Wulf shifted his weight and lowered his nose to the ground, almost looking concerned.

Colin switched his radar mode to long-distance. "There are houses and the like nearby, farms and all. I'm trying to locate a metallic heat-point. Give me a few minutes."

Meanwhile, Link and Sheik kept an eye out for a destroyed Flit somewhere in the fields. It was hard to locate; the rain was still falling hard. A minute and some later, Colin looked up sharply.

"Head west from here. I think it fell in a small river or a pond."

"Gotcha."

There was a small stream running in the fields. They trailed it, beyond a small hill. The rain had made it wild and it gurgled with mud and broken branches; but it was too small to really harm anyone. As Link slowed down, it became hard to see again, so Colin reduced his radar scale and resumed directing him.

"There's a heat spot some thirty paces south on the streamside. Drop down next to it."

"We're searching it by foot, I take it," Sheik mumbled, unbuckling his seatbelt. "I hate rain."

"Hovercrafts down to two, one. Propeller on one."

"This area is clear," Colin confirmed. "A bit muddy, so lower the undercarriage more than normal."

"Right."

The Flit's landing gear sunk into the soaked earth, but it was steady. Link switched off the propeller and the hovercrafts. He motioned to Sheik that he should check the hovers, just in case. The mechanic knew how important it was to keep the hovercrafts in shape during a storm.

Link then glanced at Colin pointedly. He motioned to his navigator to come closer. He handed him his gun and said, "Keep an eye on the Flit, and try not to let the beast eat you. I'm going out there with our guest. You know what to do."

Colin nodded, taking the holster from his captain and unbuckled his seatbelt. "I'll be fine. Watch out for yourself."

Link smiled and ruffled his navigator's blonde hair chummily then turned to Shad Knowing, who was already opening the door in his haste to find the wreck. The dog was tied to Shad's now vacant seat, whining after the aristocrat.

Link refrained from making a comment when he saw how Shad's eyes were frantic and sincerely concerned; he knew that look. He'd had it himself more than once when he tried to save his men on battlefields.

The aristocrat was struggling with the latch. Link calmly pushed him aside and swiftly opened it himself. In all seriousness, when the rain starting soaking the front of his shirt again, he said, "If your friend is dead, I will call for help to fetch it, but don't expect me to stick around and carry the wreck back to Castleton. Understood?"

Shad Knowing grimly nodded, and the two men jumped out of the Flit, into ankle-deep mud. They were already soaked through from the downpour. Shad Knowing didn't raise his hood. He merely pulled his feet out of the mud and started sloshing his way over to the point Colin has indicated. There was so much rain that Link had trouble to keep his eyes open and his gaze ahead.

They trudged forward, water and mud filling their boots, their clothes sticking to their bodies, rain matting their hair down over their faces. Link caught up with Shad and they walked side by side in relative silence, their feet splashing and their breaths short. It was so dark out that he couldn't see where he was walking, and the small lantern he'd brought with him did little to help.

The gurgling of a stream nearby told them they were on the right track, and soon, they heard the sound of water against metal, a tinkling patter and the gurgling of air bubbles fighting the stream. Shad Knowing, who had already been going at a quick pace, leaped forward, covering the distance in a few bounds. Link sped up as well, his feet splashing and sloshing in the mud. He nearly slipped, but caught himself.

Shad was standing motionless, as if deciding what to do. Link raised his lantern.

In the darkness, the faint light illuminated a real wreck. The Flit had fallen into the stream, on its side, half-sunk, the cockpit caved in slightly, glass fissured. In all likelihood, the water had kept the fuel and oil from igniting. Its small wings were half-torn, and one of its hovercrafts was missing. A quick visual sweep put it some distance away, on the other side of the stream. The other was bent, unusable. The propeller was nowhere to be seen, but Link presumed it had been torn and lay nearby, somewhere in the mud.

Shad seemed to make his decision. He slipped and slid down the small, grassy hill on which they stood until he was knee-deep in the muddy stream. He waded through, towards the Flit, trying to keep his footing steady and fighting the rain-gorged current. Link followed suit, carefully ensuring his lantern didn't fall into the stream.

The Flit was painted; it probably belonged to a company. He brought the light closer, trying to examine the large insignia on it, though it was scratched and muddy.

It was Hylian Alliance.

"Excuse me," Shad said, urgent and hesitant at once ―Link realised he probably didn't know his name― "could you please help me pry this door open?"

His speech was accented and educated, Link noticed. He shot one last glance at the emblem, uncomfortable with the thought that a Hylian Alliance pilot had been sent out into the storm, and trudged over to Shad, who was pulling on the half-open door that lay exposed. Link tied his lantern to his belt and starting pulling at the squealing metal, wondering what in the world they were hoping to accomplish. If the pilot _was_ still in there, the sight wouldn't be pretty. Wet corpses had a habit of looking awful.

After a few minutes of pulling and pushing, the door finally bent enough for them to slip into. Shad pushed himself on top of the sideways Flit and slid inside. Link heard him land and splash around. It took a while, but the bespectacled man finally called back, "I've found her! She's still breathing!"

Oh, right. Her. He'd forgotten. The pilot was a woman. He sighed.

"Help me take her back out!"

Link climbed on top of the Flit's caved frame and extended his lantern out, trying to see what Shad Knowing was trying to do. "She's still alive?"

"By some miracle," Shad wheezed, pulling a smaller body close. Link couldn't see much, but the woman was soaked and cold, though still slightly pink. She was still alive, just unconscious. "Pull her out first."

Link put the lantern down and reached for the woman's body, carefully making sure that she didn't get any cuts on the torn metal of the door. She was heavy like that, and just as wet as they were. She wore clothes that were too big and lumpy to be hers.

She groaned, but didn't wake.

Just who was he dealing with exactly?

"Do you have her?" Shad asked, holding her up inside the Flit. Link cleared her head and shoulders of the aircraft then carefully made sure that her torso and legs followed without getting any cuts.

She mumbled again, and he felt her move slightly, her muscles tensing. It was good news: continued coma risked permanent brain damage. At least she wasn't completely unconscious.

It was dangerous work, considering all the hazards a wreck could bring, but he finally had her in his arms, steadily, her head lolled back exposing a flawless neck and her long, matted blonde hair splayed on the torn metal, eyes shut and a few wounds marring her pale skin. Her lips were parted, pink and moist, her brow furrowed in pain.

She looked… Link felt his gut stir and his stomach tie into knots.

Shrugging it off, he turned his gaze away from her face and looked into the Flit at Shad's. "Who is she anyway? Your girlfriend?"

Shad's face flushed in the weak lantern light, and he blinked when a fat drop of rain hit his glasses. "No, she is not. Bring her back to someplace dry. I'll be right behind you."

"Are you sure you'll be able to get out of there?"

Shad's blue-grey eyes looked annoyed, and Link became aware that the man could be as tempered as Link himself. "Yes, I'm sure. I'm not incapable. Take her to safety. Quick. She needs care."

Link felt the urgency, and didn't argue. "I'm leaving the lantern here. Bring it back with you."

He shifted his weight so that he could get back down off the Flit's metallic carcass without dropping her. Taking a deep breath, he anticipated the cold water sinking into his boots again and winced.

Soon, he slid off the frame and his legs felt the muddy stream soak up his clothes. The rain was relentless. He regretted that he wouldn't have the lantern anymore, because his footing was uncertain at best, but at least she hadn't dropped back into the water. Much.

Lifting her a bit higher against him, Link exhaled deeply and tried to ignore how much her added weight made him sink into the muddy stream floor. He waded awkwardly away from the Flit and trudged up the slippery riverside, often sliding back down to his start point. It seemed a lost cause until Sheik appeared, towering over him.

His mechanic extended a helping hand and Link gave him a bit of the woman's weight to carry, using his free hand to feel his way up the unsteady ground.

"So this is our suicidal pilot?" Sheik asked, his breath short as he did his best to support her.

"It is," Link replied when his footing was steady again. "I've got her." He took her weight off Sheik and cradled her again. It was strange, that he'd wish to carry her on his own. Sheik would have been helpful.

But it was best not to wonder.

Reaching the Flit had never felt so good. Sheik climbed aboard and grabbed the woman's shoulders, pulling her up with him. Link pushed her legs up so that she was half-sitting, half-lying on the Flit's floor, and while he climbed up, Sheik pulled her away from the rainy door. The dog ran over and whined as he nudged her firmly, obviously worried.

Link wondered to whom the dog belonged after all.

"Where's Knowing?" Sheik asked.

Link glanced out in the darkness and rain, and saw the swaying dart of the lantern's light come closer. "Right there."

The two men waited and watched as the aristocrat, covered in mud and water, finally reached them with a sloshing sound.

"Let's hurry away from here," Shad hastily said. "They're probably already looking for her by now."

"They?" Link asked, dripping water all over the Flit's floor. "Her?" He helped their passenger into the aircraft then closed the door. "If there's something we need to know, you better start explaining. I just signed up for pneumonia tonight, and it better be worth it." His teeth chattered and he accepted the large towel Sheik handed him gratefully.

Shad Knowing looked distinctly uncomfortable, wrapping another towel around his own shoulders deliberately and adjusting a thick blanket on the woman's body. He was about to say something when Colin's voice suddenly cut in.

"Link! Sheik! Look at what the dog found!"

The three drenched men turned their heads to look in Colin's direction. The Flit wasn't a large aircraft, but it had a piloting deck with two seats, two bunks for sleeping and a narrow storage beyond a narrower door, and a minuscule machine room at the very back, with enough space for one mechanic to work in, if he didn't suffer from claustrophobia. Colin was at the door to the storage area, holding a gun to something.

Or rather, some_one_.

"Hey," Sheik said, frowning, "isn't that―"

Link's expression turned into surprise and mild anger. "It's that kid!"

The young thief was still looking as defiant as earlier that day, sharp blue eyes staring at him from under blonde strands of wild hair. He was sitting on the backbench, at gunpoint, apparently unconcerned by that last detail.

"Well," Sheik said, "now we know who opened the hangar."

"I found him hiding under here," Colin said, motioning to the storage area under the bed, hidden by a security grate. There wasn't enough space to fit a grown man, but the teen would have slipped in the unlocked Flit and hid there without any trouble. "That dog kept whining at it."

"Great," Link sarcastically said. Why was everyone so eager to climb aboard Flits nowadays? To the young pickpocket, he declared, "I've got enough of one pity case, so while your determination is impressive, boy, as soon as we've fixed her up," he nodded to the unconscious woman lying on the floor, her blonde head in Shad's lap, "I'm bringing you back to Castleton and making sure you don't hop back in."

At this, the boy looked up sharply, about to protest. Link expected him to plead his case, whatever it was, but he didn't expect Shad to intervene.

"We mustn't return to Castleton!"

The pilot, his navigator and his mechanic turned to Shad Knowing in surprise. The thief turned too, surprised and visibly glad.

"And why," Link asked, his patience running short, "would that be?"

The young woman let out a pained moan. Shad glanced down at her then looked up sharply, pleadingly.

"If she returns to Castleton, they'll take her back, and it will all have been for nothing."

Link rolled his eyes and sighed. He crossed his arms. "Right. Would you mind not being so enlightening? I was almost blinded by the sheer clarity of what you just said."

Colin smiled.

Shad brushed wet tendrils of blonde hair out of the woman's face, and Link examined the motion critically. Without an ounce of amusement, the auburn-haired aristocrat explained, "This woman has… er… _protective_ guardians."

Sheik tensed at the mention of the word 'guardian', and Shad hastened to explain further.

"She is never free, but she has to accomplish something ―they would only hinder her."

Link clicked his tongue sceptically. Finally, he said, "Look, _Shad_, I make a point of knowing all or strictly nothing. Out with it. Who is she?"

At this, Kidd, the pickpocket, snorted derisively and hooted, "Skies, are you dumb? You don't know?" He pushed Colin's gun out of his way and motioned to the young woman, "Every Castellan knows _that_ face." He looked at every man's face in turn, then eloquently said, "She's the princess of Hyrule ―_Zelda_!"

The words sunk in, met with a stunned reflective silence. Link pursed his lips, gaze jumping from Shad's earnest expression to Kidd's eloquent one, through Sheik and Colin's uncertain ones.

Finally, he reached in his wallet and took out a thousand-rupee note ― he only had one, and he kept it in the eventuality of costly Flit repairs. Kidd's eyes drak in its sight ―it was unlikely the boy had ever even seen one before in his life. Link shot him a warning glare.

He looked at the unconscious woman's face, which the dog was currently rubbing with his muzzle in worry, feeling himself soften up a little, then held up the note at arm's length. Eyes darting from the paper to the real thing, he was forced to accept the truth: their monarch, their empress-to-be, was lying unconscious on his Flit's floor.

Sheik leaned over his shoulder to make the comparison as well, examining the princess' picture on the bill critically. He mumbled, "Her nose isn't _that_ sharp."

"I don't know," Link mumbled, tilting his head to the side a little. "Maybe it's an angle thing."

"Excuse me," Shad Knowing interrupted, exasperated, "could we please try to keep her from going into hypothermic shock?"

"Right," Link said, putting the bill away. He nodded to Sheik, and the mechanic moved to help the aristocrat carry her onto one of the beds. Colin and Kidd ―they weren't even wary anymore, since Colin was not threatening by nature and Kidd didn't care much for threats in the first place― moved aside, wondering what to do with themselves.

"And you," Link said, pointing at the young thief warningly, "if I even suspect that you're thinking of stealing anything from anyone or anything here tonight, or any other night or day or just _anytime_, actually, I'm dropping you out while we're in mid-air."

"It's Kidd," the pickpocket grumbled.

"What?" The captain asked, bored.

"Kidd," the boy repeated, raising both brows. "It's my name. Kidd. I told you earlier."

"Kid?" Link's lip corners quirked up. "That's a crazy unspecific name for a boy. I'll try to remember it."

"Well," the thief said, scowling and narrowing his eyes at the pilot, "it's better than just 'you' or 'hey'."

The captain shrugged. "Agreed, and I'm captain Link Forester. I don't reckon you enjoy stealing from people whose names you know, right? Labels and all that." He ambled over to the piloting seats and examined the weather through the canopy. He frowned, and turned to look at Kidd. Lightning illuminated the planes of his face; thunder boomed around them in the vast fields. "Why did you sneak in anyway?"

Kidd's expression was defensive. "None of your business."

"Actually," Colin said, dropping himself in his seat, "it _is_ our business. No offence," he added when Kidd shot him a sharp, disgruntled glare.

"I just don't want to stay in Castleton," the thief responded, conceding an answer. He avoided their inquisitive looks. "I'm looking for someone."

"Oh skies," Link sighed, rolling his eyes. "Any minute now some pathetic sappy music is going to start playing, right?"

Kidd glared at the captain. "_No_, it's not."

Link rolled his eyes and plopped into his seat. "Well, look, kid… _Kidd_. There's nothing in it for us, so as far as I'm concerned, you can walk all the way there."

The thief's eyes widened, his brows furrowed angrily. He motioned wildly to the door to the resting area where Sheik and Shad were trying to get the princess warm. "Four-eyes and the beast don't have to justify themselves!"

The captain examined Kidd with mild interest. The boy was seething, and in this intermittent light, he looked like a younger reflection of himself. It was odd and a bit unsettling. And he wasn't sure he wanted to let his young doppelganger go…

"No, you're right. But that's because he has money," the pilot finally said.

Kidd's face turned smug. "I have money too."

"Yeah," Link nodded, sarcastic, turning away from the boy to start the engines again. "Which is why you steal strangers' wallets?"

A thousand-rupee note appeared in his line of sight. He looked up in surprise at the street boy who was holding it smugly.

There was a pause. Kidd shook the note in his face a bit.

"Go on," he said. "It's my fare."

Link rolled his eyes. "It's _my money_, you mean." He took the bill and pocketed it again, wondering when the thief had had time to pick it from him. Critically, he observed the boy, who was now deprived of any impressive tactics. He asked, his voice less callous than before, "So you're good at the sleight of hand."

Kidd nodded tensely.

"And you're looking for someone, even though you have no money to sustain yourself and you normally live in the streets."

"Who are you looking for?" Colin's question was earnest, friendlier than Link's interrogation was.

Kidd shrugged, unsure of how to treat the navigator. "Someone… who left me a long time ago."

"Your long-dead father?" Link guessed out loud. "Cliché much?"

"My _brother_," Kidd defensively corrected, turning sharply back to the pilot. "And I know he's alive," he added when he saw Link prepare his next question. The captain's mouth shut again. "He's a captain in the army. I know that much."

"Well," Link finally said, "that's just swell." He looked up when Sheik and Shad reappeared in the front, the dog impeding their movements as it kept whining, concerned for the princess. "I guess it won't cost us too much to have you tag along, but it's unlikely we're going to find your respected sibling. As far as I can understand, Four-Eyes and his pet here want us to avoid the army, right? And by the way, what's the dog's name, before we start calling it 'the Beast'?"

Shad looked offended at the nickname he'd been given, but Link just smiled. Kidd's use of the name had amused the captain. The aristocrat pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and brushed a wet tendril of hair off his forehead.

"The dog's name is Wulf," he ground out, "and we must avoid the army as much as possible, especially in the country of Hyrule. We cannot return to Castleton. Auru Mage will have raised the alarm already."

Link pursed his lips then asked, "Does the princess know that we're virtually kidnapping her? Not, you know," he added when his question was met with an uncertain silence, "that it matters much. But I'm curious."

Shad looked a little uncomfortable, probably visualizing the decapitation sentence for those who threaten the royal family, but he finally shook it off and said, "She's the one who escaped them first."

Link was not impressed. "She clearly doesn't know how to fly a Flit. What was she expecting?"

Shad looked exasperated. "Listen, we don't have time to wonder at her every move. It was her only resort; the storm provided good cover and lost most pursuers. If she hadn't sent me a message to tell me what she was doing, she'd have vanished without a trace."

"And died," Sheik added, buckling up in his seat. He checked the oil gauges absently. "She's cold, but stable," he confirmed. "She should make it out." He glanced at the captain. "We should leave, though. The Admiral probably sent out scouts to find her. It's not safe, staying here."

Link gazed at the sergeant who seemed to have sided with Shad Knowing. "You think this is alright?"

The mechanic merely said, "Facts as they are, if they catch us with the princess in our Flit, we're as good as dead. We need to get a move on, wait until she's better and awake, and then decide accordingly. At least when she's conscious, she might be a bit more supportive of our innocence."

Link paused for a second, then resolutely turned to his commands. "All right, then. Off we go."

"Where to?" Colin asked, ready to enter information. The rain continued to pelt against the canopy above them while Shad took a seat and Kidd retreated to the rest area, seating himself on the free bed, holding Wulf close. He knew better than to be standing while the Flit was in motion.

Link smirked. "I know the perfect place; it's roughly eleven hours away, and no one will ever think of looking for a princess there."

Colin looked vaguely alarmed. "Eleven hours? Where is that?"

Link smirked. "Seems like Grandma will get more visitors than she bargained for."


	6. 1-6 - The Old Priest

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 6: THE OLD PRIEST**

* * *

><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

Admiral Auru Mage, Lord Renado Shaman and High Priest Rauru Luz were not pleased. The understatement rang especially true for the fact that they'd all been deceived, and men of high standing did not like being deceived.

For all they'd known, Princess Zelda Harkinian of Hyrule, future empress of Hylia, was a predictable, slow-moving monarch, one who favoured wisdom over rash decisions, one who controlled her impulses and analyzed situations to the point of driving herself insane. Though it could be frustrating at times, it was mostly reassuring. As long as the Princess was within the court, they had little to fear. She'd sacrifice herself for the good of her land. It was her purpose.

And now that island of stability and the brake exerted on warmongering mercenaries was gone. To say things had gone from worse to catastrophic was an understatement.

To add insult to injury, she hadn't even been captured by the enemy. She'd actually gone all by herself, of her own free will, without prior warning, without even giving them a way to keep the troops patriotic. It was an act of cowardice. It was sheer folly and would probably cost her more than she'd bargained for.

All in all, it was madness. The woman ―the girl― had gone crazy. How else to explain her actions?

'… And for all this, I beg you to let me act.'

She had, of course, left a video capsule, one that explained her motivations and her intent. But it was not enough, and it would certainly not convince the people that their princess hadn't, as was apparent, upped and left before it was too late to save herself.

'I know you will spite me for this,' her video image said, looking pale and demure and sincere, 'but I can no longer pretend to be detached from this. My people are dying, and I, as a Princess, must do something for them, even if this causes my death.'

Rauru had brought his hands together, fingers joined, forming the typical triangle of prayer before him. He had closed his eyes and sunk into an armchair, looking older than he'd ever been. His lips moved from time to time as he implored the gods to wake him up from the nightmare he had been plunged into.

Auru Mage stood, more rigid than usual, at attention, his eyes taking in the image of their princess as she spoke. A muscle leapt intermittently in his jaw, and his knuckles were white as he held his hands in fists.

Renado Shaman was impassive, though those who knew him saw his nearly invisible frown, eyes stuck to the image of their young monarch. What folly.

'I will not contact you. Do not search for me. I will return when I deem that I've done a fair amount of my duty. My people will be safe; I swear it. Until I return, I wish for Renado Shaman, Auru Mage and Rauru Luz to be the leaders of Hyrule in my stead. I have faith that you will protect Hyrule in the high reaches.'

There was a silence, and the princess looked hesitant. She finally added, 'And will someone please tell Shad to feed Wulf regularly? Thank you.' She seemed embarrassed by the unprofessional conclusion, and that was where the recording stopped.

The three men stood at the top dome of the Citadel, watching dawn break on the grey horizon. The rain was still falling, but at least the thunderstorm had died away, swept by the winds. Hyrule had never seemed this dismal.

Auru Mage turned to a messenger who always stood nearby. "Send word to all commanders and captains to search for her."

"I believe she very expressly told us not to search for her," Renado softly commented. Auru Mage turned an angry eye on the lord.

"And how can you expect me to obey that command? Things are already bad enough as they are, I can hardly afford to worry about the girl's idiocy."

"Then don't," the Lord of Kakariko mildly proposed. "She is still princess; her authority still reigns, foolish or not."

Auru Mage looked frustrated, and he turned to the High Priest. "What do you think?"

Rauru Luz looked glum and his eyes were heavily circled. Ever since Auru Mage had returned in the middle of the night, claiming that the princess had stolen one of the_ Light_'s Flits and vanished into the storm, they had been deprived of sleep. "Obey the princess. To concern our selves with search at such a dire hour is unwise. Let us focus on the greater evil." He took a deep breath, then met Auru Mage's eyes tiredly. "Though I do suggest you tell your armies to keep an eye out. If we can retrieve her, all the better."

"Then that's how it will be." The Admiral turned to his messenger, who was still hanging. "Send word to the commanders and captains to watch for the princess and not let her escape if they see her."

"Yes, sir."

"And by the skies, someone have that boy Knowing take care of the damn animal she calls a dog!"

"Uh… Sir…" The messenger hesitantly replied, "Shad Knowing also disappeared last night. With the dog. Claimed he had urgent business to take care of. He hasn't returned."

There was a short silence, until Auru Mage growled under his breath menacingly. Renado shot him a carefully guarded look.

"So help me," the Admiral said, "if she and that boy have gone together someplace to elope, I will rip this country apart."

"I doubt that's it," Renado said. "She was fond of Shad, but not in love. And he admired her, but did not entertain any fanciful emotions for her."

"Of course," Auru acidly commented, "you are so obviously privy to her inner feelings and intentions. After all, she came forward to you with her latest stunt, didn't she?"

The remark was biting and Renado Shaman said nothing. If he felt rebuked or insulted, he let none of it show. His obvious capacity for emotional detachment was unnerving to the Admiral.

"Enough bickering," Rauru Luz suddenly said. "I believe we all have a good reason to be upset, but let's not make assumptions. Perhaps the princess was right to escape us old men. We sit here arguing over things for hours and do nothing but anger over actions beyond our immediate control."

"Careful, old man. You're just a priest."

"And you are but a soldier," Rauru softly reminded him.

"Would you rather have your followers defend your temples with bare hands and sheer good will, _priest_?"

"That is enough," Renado suddenly cut in. "If we continue to banter, there will be no end to the scuffle. Remember we are now charged with protecting Hyrule until Zelda returns. That makes us stewards, all three of us."

There was a strange, uncertain silence then. They were now the three stewards of Hyrule, whether it pleased them or not, and the sudden implications of the titles dawned on them. There was near unlimited power to it, yet…

It seemed the princess had knowingly named all three of them stewards to put them on equal footing. How typical. She knew they would be upset, and more than anything, she kept their forces divided, as they were when she was within the Citadel. No one steward would be able to force the two others to follow him on dangerous ventures. They'd be forced to come to an agreement, after long hours of deliberation, forcing them to think on the good of Hyrule.

She truly was wise.

And she was a true fool.

"Well then," Rauru Luz finally said, "I believe we will be seeing a lot of one another in the next few…" Days? Weeks? Months? He preferred not to finish his sentence.

"Our priority for now," Renado proposed, "would be to get some rest. We will do no good by being tired and tempered."

This suggestion was met with quiet assent, and Auru Mage gruffly excused himself. Renado nodded to Rauru Luz, who was worriedly looking at the grey skies outside.

"We will honour the princess," he said.

"We will honour the good of Hyrule," Renado confirmed. "Ganondorf Dragmire will not find weakness in the princess' absence."

Rauru nodded, but he still cast concerned eyes on the rolling, grey fields of Hyrule. "May she be guided and safe, Renado. She has never been alone before."


	7. 1-7 - The Pilot

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 7: THE PILOT**

* * *

><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, over the central Hyrulian plains<br>Hylian Alliance ship, Captain Link Forester's Flit_

The princess, however, was not alone.

Link stumbled back in the resting area, exhausted. He'd flown over a good part of the fields of Hyrule on their southbound trip, adjusting his course and speed regularly because Colin had calculated they'd need to restock on fuel soon.

The Flit could only contain enough fuel for six hours of flight. As a result, Link had planned a flight towards the south, at the border between Waker and Hyrule, where they'd find a cheap seller to refuel and rest before continuing their flight. It was the only option, and it was likely they'd stop in Windfall for a medical check on the princess, before heading further south to Outset Island.

It was early morning, and the sky had cleared the more they headed south. A bleak sun was peeking over the horizon, casting greys and whites on the surface of the sky. Fluffy white and grey clouds had replaced the ominous storm.

Link had ultimately decided to leave the controls to Sheik and Colin and get some much-needed rest.

He collapsed on the bed opposite the princess'. Shad was tiredly watching over her, hypnotically brushing the back of her hand with his thumb, eyes circled but unwilling to let her out of his conscious sight. Wulf was lying on the floor with his muzzle between his front paws, quiet.

Link removed his mud-covered boots, movements imprecise and jerky, and he looked at the picture the aristocrat made, leaning over the princess whose pale face was now tinged with pink, her breathing regular and peaceful from sleep. Shad had summarily cleaned her face of mud and grime, and her hair had dried in a mess of blonde hair on the pillow. She still looked beautiful, to the captain's unease.

Link pushed his boots to the side of the bed so they weren't in the way, removed his jacket, and asked, "Haven't you gotten any rest?"

Shad seemed to snap out of his concerned mothering and glanced back at the captain, apparently surprised that he wasn't alone contemplating the monarch's resting face. Defensively, he said, aristocratic lilt forcing him to be articulate, "I am not tired."

Link blinked slowly at him, feeling his own eyes shut of their own accord. "Right," he mumbled. "Suit yourself."

Shad Knowing looked back at the captain as Link reclined on the cot with a loud, relieved sigh. If his blue-grey eyes felt any envy, he quickly dissimulated it. "What are your plans for trajectory?"

Link yawned. "We're headed towards the wooded coast near the Wake-Hyrulian border, on the way to Windfall. There's bound to be some air-carrier with fuel to sell there."

"You sound uncertain."

Link shrugged and took a deep breath, relaxing quickly. "Fuel carriers are wary of the coast ―aerial turbulence and all. If they're carrying excitable material, the consequences could be unpleasant. But some of them are headed into Hyrule, so we might be lucky and catch one." He didn't mention that the war made fuel expensive and hard to obtain.

Shad seemed pensive for a moment. "Why not…" He hesitated then continued, "Why not head for the City in the Sky?"

Link furrowed a brow. He seemed to be mentally comparing courses and locations. "Celestia? But that's off our course, and it'll elongate our flight time by at least an hour."

Shad nodded. "Perhaps, but I'm concerned for the princess. The City in the Sky is known for its excellent medical and technological knowledge. At the very least we're certain to find fuel and decent food."

Link's brow rose at the comment. Shad had been quite picky about their pre-packaged goods. He crossed his arms behind his head and closed his eyes. "Well, you're probably right, but I doubt they'll let us in. The City in the Sky is reputed to be pretty elitist." He peeked under one eyelid at his passenger. "Even if they looked beyond our muddy, beat-up Flit, I doubt they'll grant us access to their elegant premises, assuming we keep the princess' identity a secret as we said we would."

Shad seemed to consider this for a moment. It was true they'd sworn to keep the princess hidden from authorities. To enter the City in the Sky was a risky venture. Still, the aristocrat said, "We can announce me instead."

Link snickered a little, until he realised the bespectacled man was serious. "Wait. What?"

Shad pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose. "My father…" He took a deep breath, glanced at the princess. Apparently considering there was no other option, he said, "My father's name is well-known there. They will allow his son in without question."

Link pursed his lips. "Who was your father again?"

The aristocrat hesitated, then grudgingly mumbled, "Again? I've never mentioned it, but... Thaddeus Knowing."

This time, the captain was truly impressed. He sat up and stared incredulously at his passenger. "You mean Thaddeus Knowing... _Hovercraft-inventor _Thaddeus Knowing? Lord of Celestia? Chief Engineer of the City in the Sky? The man who perfected anti-gravity devices? The guy who tapped into quasi-perpetual motion?" He shot a look up into the cockpit, but Sheik hadn't overheard. Looking back at Shad with visible excitement, Link continued, "When Sheik hears this, he's going to geek out _hard_."

Shad seemed wryly amused by the pilot's enthusiasm. "Yes, I am the son of Lord Thaddeus Knowing, inventor of the hovercraft-based airship." He sounded annoyed and disdainful when he added, "Lord of _Celestia_, if one must."

"Why didn't you say so earlier?" Link asked, excited, sitting up. "That means we'll get treated like kings!"

Shad did not seem nearly as enthusiastic, however. "If my father hears we have the princess in our guard, he will be hooting about it to Castleton. I'm sure the war has cut his supplies and he'll take any perk he can get."

That killed Link's enthusiasm fast. "Well then," he grumbled, "why did you suggest it?"

Shad examined princess Zelda's face pensively. "We need to have her examined. She hasn't eaten anything in at least twelve hours and we don't know when she will awaken. I know a way into the city through someone that will reveal nothing of her presence to my father."

Link sighed, coming to a quick decision. "I hope you're right. Alright then." He stood and left to wander into the noisy cockpit ―the hovercrafts right under the floor were nearly deafening―, where Kidd was asking Sheik all numbers of questions regarding Flit maintenance and Colin was trying to focus in spite of the noise.

"Colin," Link said, speaking into a headset. "Change the trajectory. We're headed towards Celestia."

Colin frowned and looked up at his captain. "But that's―"

"Apparently we've got our passport sitting in the back."

Colin shook his head. "But Link, Celestia is much higher and farther than we can afford to take this Flit. With the fuel level as it is, we won't make it with any margin at all."

"But we can make it?" The captain asked, slowly seeing his precious hours of sleep vanish before his eyes.

"If we don't push the propeller and hovercrafts beyond seven FGU, we could make it," Colin begrudgingly relented. "But it's a close call and I don't think it's a wise attempt."

"But we'll do it anyway," Sheik said, easily reading Link's enthusiastic gaze. "Something tells me Link has been dying to see the City in the Sky for himself."

"You've got that right."

Colin adjusted the course with a sigh. "We're two hours away from Celestia." He looked vaguely alarmed. "And I wish to repeat how we might run out of fuel before then."

"We'll manage," Link said, adjusting the course with a gentle nudge to the commands. The Flit executed a graceful arch in the morning sky. "If we don't, we'll just blame Sheik."

The mechanic rolled his eyes. "I'm only the one who refills our tanks. You're the nitwits who spend it all the time."

Colin cringed, but Link laughed.

Kidd sat beside Sheik. "How does a Flit work, anyway?"

The mechanic turned his attention to their youngest passenger. The pickpocket hadn't stolen anything of theirs so far, which was a vast improvement over his previous behaviour. It was probably because there was nowhere he could run to at the moment, though.

"That's a vague question," Sheik said. "A Flit is more than just a button-pushing engine. It doesn't run on tracks or anything."

Kidd fidgeted in his seat and readjusted his headset. "I mean, how come it goes anywhere you want?"

Sheik pursed his lips, pondering his answer. "Well, there are two forces that keep a Flit ―or any airship, really― going: the hovercrafts and the propeller. The hovercrafts decide vertical lift and incline, like thrusters. The more or less strength exerted by the hovercrafts, the higher or lower the Flit stays. It's the propeller that decides direction, along with the rudder."

"Those big fleet ships must have a huge number of hovercrafts," Kidd mumbled. Sheik smirked and shook his head.

"Not at all." He shot a glance at his gauges ―everything was in order― then out the window at the clouds that zipped past them. "A Flit's hovercrafts are amongst the smallest in existence. You have massive hovercrafts too. A main airship generally has from eight to ten hovercrafts. But they're huge."

Kidd frowned. "But don't they weigh the ship down and keep it from getting off the ground?"

Sheik shrugged. "It's a matter of fighting gravity."

Kidd's eyes lit up. "Yeah, about that. What's a fighting-gravity-unit?"

"It's the unit of strength exerted by any engine on an aircraft," Link supplied before Sheik could reply. "One standard FGU is defined by the amount of power per second needed to lift and keep any object at a stable altitude just off the ground, squared. Add an FGU, and it's that power squared twice. Three FGU is eight times the power, and so on."

Kidd frowned.

"Most FGU limits," Colin continued, taking up where Link left off, "are engine-specific. Different hovercrafts have different fighting-gravity-unit capabilities that are proportional to the particular craft's purpose."

Kidd did not reply, trying to make sense of what they'd said.

Sheik sighed, then simplified it for the boy. "In our case, an FGU is the indicator of strength output by an engine, be it a hovercraft or a propeller. One FGU is the minimum we can attain and is the strength at which gravity is nullified. After that, two FGU, up to fifteen, are good for positioning the Flit vertically in space."

"Then," Kidd said, after a long silence of assimilation, clearly working with the gist of what the pilot, navigator and mechanic had explained, "we could attach bigger hovercrafts to this ship and make it go higher and faster?"

"If we had the necessary fuel," Link laughed, glancing back at their passenger, impressed by the boy's fast synthesizing.

"Oh." Kidd looked disappointed.

"It's all right if you don't understand the math," Link continued with a grin. "There are full scholar groups dedicated to the notion alone."

Kidd just mumbled something no one could make out.

"Don't regret asking," Sheik said. "Flying is the best thing we've come up with in centuries."

"So," Kidd continued, apparently deciding to stay away from technical terms, "do they teach you how to fly at the Academy?"

Link shrugged and smirked. "Well, not if you already know how to fly."

Kidd seemed vividly interested by the notion. "Really?" He held on to Link's headrest and asked, "Where did you learn?"

Colin settled into his seat comfortably and smiled. He enjoyed the stories. They were always colourful and filled with a subdued sense of adventure that Link seemed to communicate naturally.

"Well if you must know," Link said, smiling as the Flit skimmed against clouds and dragged tendrils of cold vapour with it, "I built my very first Flit at fourteen. It was back in the peaceful days, on Outset. That's my home island in Waker. I had salvaged the pieces from Old Orca's scrap yard and I'd built it in the storage hangar next to our house."

"You lived with your parents?" Kidd asked, envious already, and Colin knew the feeling.

Link shook his head. "It was my grandmother's house. I lived with her and my younger sister. She's around your age, or a little older. You'll meet them both once we arrive on Outset."

"And they let you build a Flit?" Kidd inquired.

Link laughed. "You might say that. I had to beg my Grandma to let me do it. She was afraid I'd get into an accident and hurt myself. But I was a stubborn kid, and eventually she couldn't stop me, so she just kept an eye on me and made sure I knew what I was doing."

"How long did it take to build it?"

Link smiled. "Perhaps a full year of trial and error. By the time I had an engine that was deemed functional, everyone on the island was involved into the project in some way or other." He seemed lost in fond memories. "I felt a lot of pride from that."

"And it flew?" Kidd eagerly questioned.

Link looked slightly offended. "Well of course it flew. That day, the wind was blowing towards the west, and we pushed and pulled the Flit up onto the small mountain of the island, and on a tiny landing platform that Aryll and I had built. I was so nervous I nearly cancelled the whole thing. I had never really flown it for real. Only made it hover a bit."

The sky was bright, and Colin kept an eye on their fuel gauges. They were pushing it. Still, no sense interrupting Link.

"But," Link continued, "I sat in that little engine and knew I would be alright. So I started the hovercrafts. I remember hoping that they wouldn't give out on me during the flight. Just in case, Rose and Sue-Belle had sown a parachute for me, and Abe and Mesa were already in their canoes to fetch me out of the water should the Flit crash."

"Optimistic fellows," Sheik commented with a grin.

"You can't blame them," Link snickered. "The craft was certainly dangerous looking. Anyhow, the conditions were ideal. My little craft lifted off the platform without a hitch. Everyone was watching and they cheered. I had to test it out fully, so I pushed my Flit to six FGU, the maximum I could attain, and it zoomed off the mountain at a speed I had never imagined. It was like I was part of the wind itself. I flew for a few minutes, feeling the wind in my hair and on my face, seeing the water and waves zip by under me, like I was the only one in the world."

Kidd and Colin watched the pilot with constant interest.

"Eventually," Link said, watching the sky, which had turned blue as the morning slowly progressed, "I returned to the platform, unharmed and hooked."

"So you kept on flying," Kidd prompted.

"So I did," Link softly said, a wistful smile etching itself on his face. "I improved my Flit and my piloting skills over the next few years, not without a few hitches, of course, but overall, I was slowly making a reputation for myself."

"And then there was the Headstone Island Annual Race," Sheik said, smirking.

Link squinted at his mechanic. "Yeah, thank the skies you became my friend that time because I'd have beaten you dead otherwise."

Sheik rolled his eyes. "Apologies, but I won that race fair and square. And besides, you're one to resent me. You came in fourth."

Link scowled. "Shut up."

"Out of fifty contestants," Sheik deadpanned.

Kidd looked impressed, and Link's frown softened into a smug grin.

"Yeah," the pilot said, "I did kick a few hides at the time."

"So you met each other during a race?" Kidd asked. Sheik and Link nodded.

"Yeah. After that we kept competing for first place in all the regional races," Sheik said. "We were unstoppable; it was almost scary."

Colin cleared his throat. "Uh. Link."

Link laughed aloud. "Remember the Diamond Steppe Island Race? Where I knocked your Flit into a small cliff and won by a few milliseconds?"

"Link."

Sheik growled. "And the time in Needle Rock where you nearly got pushed into the water because you'd antagonized that tiny guy Tingle?"

"How was I supposed to know the guy had a posse?" Link replied with a laugh. "Did you see his ship? It was red and green, like some freakish fairy-lover's abomination."

Sheik couldn't hold down a tiny smirk. "Which is exactly what it was."

The men laughed, when suddenly the Flit hiccupped. There was a short second during which the engines stopped humming, then strained to start again. Link and Sheik looked down at the gauges.

"Oh damn."

Colin turned a pale face to Link. "I don't want to sound like I foresaw this omen, Link, but we're soon going to be in trouble."

The captain looked uneasy, but he finally shook his head. "She can hold it," he nervously said, holding onto the controls tighter.

No one bothered to argue. They'd find out soon enough whether or not the captain was right.


	8. 1-8 - The Renegade

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 8: THE RENEGADE**

* * *

><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Waker Skies,<br>Forsaken Fortress_

What an ugly place, this Forsaken Fortress. With the dark clouds casting a seemingly perpetual shadow over the whole island and its extensive, crooked-looking edifice, it was a wonder anyone had bothered keeping the place in any shape at all. The rain pelted against his windshield, and Dark wondered why he, of all people, had to run stupid errands like this one.

It was just his luck.

'Find Captain Damon Fierce. He'll give you the cargo and tell you where to take it.' Agahnim's words had practically been burned into his retina, so familiar that they were deformed and lost meaning. Dark Knight had wanted to rebel. He was a navy captain, for the gods' sake, and this job was so below his capacities that he felt insulted.

"I shouldn't have slept with his wife," Dark grumbled, throwing another dart at his commander's picture, where Agahnim Veils' hooknose was pierced by four other darts. Dark had expressly taken this Flit because it had a dartboard installed inside. At this point, the dartboard was his only way to stay sane and focused.

Two and a half hours of flight, and he was still pissed off. To begin with, they'd told him to take an airship as opposed to something he preferred, like a boat. How bloody far did they want him to carry the bloody cargo? It was ridiculous.

"I'm not a goddamn courier, Veils!" The young captain vociferated.

The radio crackled, the noise so garbled he couldn't even determine if it was a man or a woman speaking. "_Guardian Fortress to approaching Flit. Identify yourself_."

Dark turned his attention to the sudden connection. He hated these aircrafts, with their cheeky bits of technology. He still hadn't figured out how to shut out the incoming radio airwaves.

And Captain Dark Knight didn't like feeling stupid.

"This is Captain Dark Knight. Agahnim Veils sent me in to meet Captain Damon Fierce," he said into his mouthpiece. "And I'd like a Red Potion on the side, please."

There was a silence, when a woman's voice came in, now clearer from the proximity, and said, a smirk audible in her voice, "_I'm sorry, captain, but we've only got Purple Chu Jelly. Evil fortress and all_."

It took a moment for Dark to realise that his correspondent was actually going along with his joke. A smirk came over him. He liked his women cheeky.

"Can someone tell me where to land?" He asked, running a hand through his hair and checking in the dark reflection of the cockpit window to make sure that he still looked good ―he did, as always― and started circling the fortress from above.

It was a surprisingly extensive complex, with large projectors, barbed wire and gates, with enough armed guards to keep it defended. His expression turned grim with the thought.

And to think they said it was an abandoned place. Liars.

Why lie about it?

"_Go for platform one, in the centre of the fortress_." This voice was not a woman's; it was a deep, rumbling thunder-like voice. Male.

Frowning, the captain pushed the Flit forward then stopped the propeller. He disliked landings, but he'd go carefully. Damn aircrafts.

The hovercrafts were slowly inched towards a halt, and the Flit lowered itself, then touched ground, rougher than he'd liked, its landing gear solid under Dark. The feeling of stability was strange. He was accustomed to the roll of the water or the uncertain drifting of air, but now the steady calm of earth was unsettling.

He took his time to unfasten himself and waited for his shaky legs to become strong again. He expected the island to roll under his feet or to sway like the tide on the coast of small islands. It didn't. He was standing on solid rock.

Someone banged on the Flit's door. "Hey! Are you alright in there?"

The dark haired captain scowled. Damn guards.

The fortress, from the inside, was even more intimidating, somehow. Even though he tried to convince himself that he was there legitimately, the feeling of being a suspicious outsider couldn't be shaken. Rock and cement and darkness mixed in a jagged, eerie mix of untold threats. The rock itself was a dark grey, and under the storm clouds and pouring rain, they glistened with black and white reflections. Large ships were anchored in a controlled harbour with thick, impregnable gates that opened with a hydraulic system, from what he could guess.

Large, thick, high walls were built on cliffs that fell straight into the dark, murky, angry ocean. Eight projectors aimed their powerful blast of light on the thunderous clouds and the stormy sea. The interior of the fortress, with its landing pads and rock formations, was brightly lit, even under the rain, by fixed lamps and reflectors. One would think the island was bathed in perpetual night, even when the sun was supposed to be out.

And quite obviously, the place had never once fallen into desuetude.

"I was thinking," the captain said, a tight smile shot in the vague direction of the armoured guards escorting him out of the rain and into a barracks-like building, "we should go for brighter colours in this dreary place. They're all the rage. How do you feel about salmon pink? Ochre?"

"He's here," a guard said, opening a door and speaking to the people waiting inside. He was ignoring the captain's small talk.

"Let him in," the same deep voice from the radio replied.

The guard turned to Dark Knight, who was slowly getting soaked in the rain. "They are expecting you."

"I hadn't heard. How lovely of you to let me know," the captain sarcastically commented. As the guards retreated, he pushed the door open and stepped inside a warm but eerie-looking room. A few orange lamps cast strange shadows on the walls.

In the middle, three people were waiting. A cursory examination told him two of them were military men, and the other was a diplomat. Female. Surely the only other civilians in the fortress were the potential prisoners, which he never wished to meet. There was only so much pathos a guy could take.

The first man, Dark didn't pay much attention to. Under Dark's rank, dressed in the cheap unadorned burgundy of the lower ranks, he was a corporal waiting for the others to take action.

The two others, on the other hand, merited some attention. One was, presumably, Damon Fierce himself. It seemed fitting for the man to be so similar to a demonic god, with the pristine white collar of his crisp uniform tightly hugging his powerful throat. His shoulders were probably twice the width of Dark Knight's, with platinum blonde hair and pale, piercing eyes. In this light, it was hard to tell, but Dark was confident the man had tribal facial tattoos. Or maybe it was just a trick of the light.

Needless to say, the man was about as intimidating as an angry dancing Goron, except without the ridicule. In Dark's vernacular, that was pretty goddamn scary.

Rather than keep up the staring contest ―which he was losing anyway― Dark turned his attention to the last figure, not military obviously, as evidenced by the lack of a uniform.

A woman. This was almost enough to brighten Dark's spirits. Almost.

"Princess Midna Black," he begrudgingly acknowledged. Damn.

The woman nodded, clearly amused. "Captain."

The same voice as the one on the radio. So much for cheekiness. Pity, she was spectacular. The barren lands of Twilight gave its people a dark complexion, exotic traits, and a taste for skimpy clothes. Sun-touched hair had taken on the very colours of a russet sunset; blonde, orange, red, all in a mix that framed an elegant face painted with the soft pink hues only monarchs could afford, all the more accented by the dark tones of her snug clothes.

And the eyes were like the very sunset that fell over Twilight's desert, reflected on a thousand mirrors that deformed its light into red and yellow and gold, then united again in two bright orbs.

Damnit. She made him lyrical.

"Something is troubling you, captain?" She asked, catlike in her perceptiveness. No doubt she enjoyed toying with peoples' sanity and lives, like some feral, beautiful killer. Perhaps he was biased.

"It takes more than a little rain to trouble me," Dark Knight finally answered, shaking the water out of his hair.

She smirked, but the talk was over.

"You're late," Damon Fierce remarked, his voice a grumbling thunder. Dark wondered why he looked so tense. He didn't look like he was from Waker. His traits were too rough, like they were hewn out of granite. Yeah, definitely land-born. Termina, maybe? Hyrule?

It didn't matter, really. Damon Fierce was only as memorable as the terror he inspired. Dark was mildly surprised he'd never heard of him, but then, he hadn't even known for sure that the Forsaken Fortress was still in operation.

Dark couldn't help his smirk. "Am I?"

"We expected you to leave here before midnight. Last night."

Dark pursed his lips and checked his military-issue pocket watch. It was still early morning. "Well, I guess you're right… Delivery's on me, then."

Damon Fierce didn't crack a smile ―shocking… _not_― but the princess grinned. Somehow, that unsettled and pleased the captain all at once.

"Admiral Ganondorf Dragmire expects his cargo as soon as possible," Damon Fierce reminded him. He obviously wanted things to go roundly under his watch. Dark caught himself wondering what he could expect if things didn't turn out properly, and shuddered.

"Send a card detailing our failings, then," he grumbled. "It's not my fault the weather around this island is as constant as a weather-vane. Have you ever tried flying in these conditions?"

"Yes." The answer was curt, and it implied that Damon Fierce _never _encountered difficult flight conditions. Dark felt something begging to explode under the captain's composure. It didn't bode too well, and if he didn't put a leash on his habitual wry wit, he might be fish bait before he knew it, and that was not a good prospect, as Dark naturally did enjoy being on top of the food chain.

He took a deep breath and forced himself back into professionalism. He was a soldier, proud of his logic and cold blood. He could rival with this man's efficiency.

"Where is the cargo, and where am I taking it?"

Damon Fierce shot Midna Black a curt look. The princess' expression was controlled and she turned those bewitching eyes on him. "Captain Knight―"

"Dark."

Her lips twitched upwards, a little maliciously. "_Captain Knight_. The cargo is Twilight heritage, an integral part of our nation's resources. The Admiral needs it."

"Care to be a little bit more specific?" Dark asked.

The princess smirked again, but Damon Fierce stepped forward. "This isn't the place for explanations. The Hylian Alliance has ears accustomed to whispers. As for your position in Agahnim Veils' navy, I will take over until you return." This did not seem to make Damon Fierce very happy.

Dark could only stare in disbelief. There were only so many reasons they'd bother with a switch like this: Dark's ability with a boat was no longer needed, and Damon Fierce's capacity for flight was, _or _Dark had pissed Agahnim Veils' off enough that he wanted him gone.

The second option was a lot more likely, and it explained Damon Fierce's anger with him. Dark couldn't really blame him.

Dark was beginning to get tired. "Alright, then. Well, whatever this cargo happens to be, vague details and all, where do they expect the delivery?"

"New Kasuto, Calatia, in a week at the latest," Damon Fierce replied before Midna could utter a sound. She looked rebuffed and a little irked. Dark noted that he was beginning to dislike the man more with every word he stole from the Twilight princess' mouth.

"Alright then," he said. There was a moment during which no one moved. He raised both brows and asked, "So… where's this cargo, so I can finally get going?"

Damon Fierce was about to speak, but the princess raised a hand and curtly said, to the captain, "I'll handle this." Dark shot her a large grin, to which she responded by pressing her lips together, eyes amused, though Dark wasn't sure it was all very sincere.

"You intend to go through with this?" Damon Fierce asked the Twilight princess as the beauty walked past Dark and towards the door.

She turned, shoulders square and chin high, neck long and elegant, and haughtily asked, "You would stop me, Captain?"

Dark felt something drop in the pit of his stomach. There was something defiant, sexy, and painfully attractive about the woman's confidence. Though he couldn't help but wonder what she was defiant about. Or why Damon Fierce could want to stop her.

The demon-like man stood even more rigid, if possible. It seemed difficult for him to accept that, of all the people in the room, he wasn't the highest ranking. Jaw stubbornly set, he finally ground out, "No… your highness."

Midna's purple-painted lips curled upwards, smug and fiendish and, in Dark's experienced opinion, sexier than ever. "I didn't think so." With a billow of her robes, she turned on her heel and reached for the door, ready to push it open. She glanced back and raised a brow at Dark, indicating with a defined nod of her head for him to follow.

He didn't hesitate, even pushing the door open for her. At this point, he had nothing to lose in flirting a little. Maybe she'd fall like every other beauty before her. She was first and foremost a woman, after all. And Dark knew how to get some distractions in even the most high-collared ladies. Aveil included.

Outside, the storm still raged, and it was still as dark as night, even though Dark knew it was morning and the sun was presumably up, somewhere beyond the perpetual clouds.

"I hate rain," he said, squinting light brown eyes at the thundering skies.

The princess laughed a little. "I'm told the area is quite breathtaking during the winter."

"Oh yes," Dark sarcastically replied, blinking against the wind and water, shielding himself with an arm. He was already soaked. "Let's replace the rain with, sleet, ice, snow and hail. Goody."

Midna rolled her eyes, apparently unaffected by his lack of respect. Her robes were billowing in the strong gales that swept the unsheltered courtyard. She brought her coat's hood over her head, and motioned for the captain to follow her. "Toughen up. We've got a long way to go."

Dark snorted, then asked, " _We_? What do you mean, _we_ have a long way to go?"

Midna turned, bright eyes almost glittering in amusement. "Don't sound surprised. I need a… way up north, and Ganondorf Dragmire does not consider me important enough to warrant the use of an official Guardian airship."

Stunned, the captain followed her long strides, trying to hold in his smile. Her legs were as lovely as he remembered from the news.

"And now that we're away from the prying ears," he said, jogging up to reach her side ―she did not slow down― as they both climbed a rather steep ramp to one of the secondary landing pads, "how about you tell me just what is so important to Ganondorf Dragmire that I have to take the cargo and you, unseen, to New Kasuto? And why New Kasuto? I thought the Admiral's stronghold was in Horon City. Although until now I assumed this place was out of order, so I suppose many of our assumptions are wrong to begin with. And why wouldn't he provide you, the princess of Twilight, with a ship? What's the deal?"

Midna Black seemed amused ―the default expression annoyed him a little. "Has anyone ever mentioned ―even in passing― that you ask too many questions?"

"Oh, all the time," he replied dryly. "But I think in this particular case, the questions are appropriate. Hence my asking them." He disliked the way everyone seemed to be patronizing him lately.

Midna laughed a little, a sort of fiendish giggle that seemed false. "I make a point of trusting the army with the strict minimum of information, captain. Damon Fierce is one of your co-ranking officers, isn't he?"

Dark squinted against the gale-force winds and biting pinches of raindrops. He brought an arm up and tried to guess just how much longer she'd have them walk out in the storm. "Unfortunately."

She paused, mercifully. Dark tried to see where they were, but all he could seem to focus on now was her frown. She said, "He would not trust me or leave me alone. I dislike being treated like a criminal."

Something about her attitude bothered Dark. He replied with, "And you won't trust me with information. I dislike being treated like an idiot, lady."

There was a pause where she seemingly recoiled from the blunt mark of disrespect and the shock of his confidence, before her frown deepened. Dark mentally kicked himself, but chose not to pry any longer.

The Twilight princess turned on her heel and continued to walk, briskly, trying to look dignified in the perpetual storm. They were reaching a larger aircraft than the one he'd arrived in, an upper flitting class ship with a long distance capacity.

He watched as a cubic crate was loaded into the craft and as mechanics finished the refuelling, trying not to be pushed away by the wind into the raging waters that battered the rocky cliffs far below.

The princess didn't wait for the go ahead. She boarded the large Flit and disappeared into the cockpit.

Dark jogged up to the engine and engulfed himself after her. He found her checking that all her belongings were indeed stored with the large crate of whatever it was Ganondorf Dragmire wanted. He asked, "Hang on. You mean the Guardian Coalition doesn't trust you, and you don't trust it or its captains? You won't tell me anything even though I'm on your side?"

She turned sharply, glaring fiercely at him, and the force of her stare made him recoil a little. "Do not assume you are my ally, captain. The army whose insignia you wear clearly has qualms about it."

Something clicked. He said, a slow smile making its way onto his face, "You didn't really rally yourself to his cause, did you? Ha, I knew it."

"You presume much," the princess growled, baring small, white teeth, and looking uneasy at his smile. She brushed past him and towards the front. "I have my reasons for secrecy. Do not presume you understand everything. I can promise you that you don't."

"And I can promise you," he said, grabbing her arm firmly, to her shock ―clearly she was not accustomed to contact with other people, "that I won't stand by and let you use me to your leisure. I may not rank as high as you, but I'm the pilot here and I'm the only way you're going to get away from my badge-wearing buddies. I almost expect that you're not on the Guardians' side, and it hardly bothers me. I realise you're no warmonger. You're something more… vicious and selfish."

She tore her arm out of his grasp, glaring daggers. "As I said," she murmured, her voice low and threatening, "do not presume you know everything about me." But her eyes darted away and her voice shook.

"Your highness," a mechanic suddenly called, forcing the two on board apart ―Dark hadn't realised how close they had been― "The engine is ready to go. We'll give the go ahead to the tower and they'll give you permission to lift."

Curtly, the princess nodded. "Thank you." Her eyes flashed dangerously in Dark's direction, daring him to continue their previous argument.

Dark withstood the stare for a short while, before snorting and averting his attention to the front cockpit. He would have to learn how to pilot the damn thing properly, and that wouldn't be a cakewalk. He'd figure out the vagaries of Midna Black's behaviour some other time. The sooner he got away from this gods-forsaken island, the better.

Although, if he could, he would try to get answers.


	9. 1-9 - The Crash-Landers

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 9: THE CRASH-LANDERS**

* * *

><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, somewhere over the Hyrulian plains, City in the Sky airspace<br>Hylian Alliance ship, Captain Link Forester's Flit_

By the time they reached the Sky City, the engine had come close to stopping a few good times, and Kidd and Shad ―who had come out of the back cabin after the Flit once dropped a few meters with a heave― looked pale and terrified. Even Wulf was sitting by the princess' side, letting out a constant whine. At this point, Colin reminded them every few seconds of the distance to cross before coming in view of the city, and Sheik did everything he could to keep the hovercrafts working.

"Whose idea was this?" The mechanic suddenly asked with an atypical growl.

"Four-Eyes' and Link's," Kidd replied, holding onto his seat tightly.

"We'll make it," Link growled, for the thousandth time, evidently to convince himself.

The Flit was nevertheless running on its last fuel reserves. Colin was trying hard not to panic. Link had taken them through dangerous airborne battles before. Surely hurtling through the air as high velocity to crash into the ground far below wasn't as bad as exploding in a ball of flames and torn metal, right?

By now, the engines would sputter regularly, and the whole crew expected at any moment that the aircraft would suddenly drop, that their hearts would heave upwards as they hurtled down, and that their lives would meet their last seconds.

And then, they saw it.

The Celestia appeared from within the fluffy white clouds. It shone in the sunlight, its delicate and bright towers rising in the blue as the light bounced off smooth metal and cement. The Flit's crew held their collective breath. From afar, in the moving clouds, with its drifting buildings, it seemed the whole city was precariously hesitating between flight and fall. So ethereal and beautiful it was, with all its hovercrafts and suspended gardens ―a true step closer to the heavens.

"How does it stay up there?" Kidd suddenly asked, effectively shattering the spirit of awe that had taken them all.

"Hovercrafts ―some of the most massive and ancient since the invention of hovercrafts themselves," Shad grimly answered. He was the only one who had expressed no admiration thus far. "In way, they are precursors to the technology. I'm not entirely sure how my father keeps them afloat."

"How come?"

"Someone tried to calculate how much fuel the City consumes, and came up with a mathematical impossibility," Link explained. He was trying to manoeuvre the Flit in the strong, high altitude winds. "Something about the weight, the tank sizes, and the consumption rate of the hovercrafts didn't add up."

Shad snorted. "My father probably uses more eolian and solar power than we think."

Something on Colin and Sheik's boards started bleeping. Sheik let out a shaky breath and focused the computer on trying to find more fuel, which he pertinently knew was not there. The fact frustrated him to no end.

"Link," Colin tensely said, noticing Sheik's rising anxiety, "we're running on our last units of fuel. If you boost anything we'll―"

"I know," Link grumbled, clutching the controls tightly. "I'm trying to find a landing platform that has nothing obstructing it. You'd think with all the ships incoming and outgoing, they weren't so exclusive after all―"

A new flasher lit up on Colin's board.

"Incoming transmission," the navigator said. At the same moment, the Flit lurched downward and every passenger felt their stomach crawl up their throat. The engine started again, and the Flit, which had dropped a little, sputtered back to life. The faces in the cockpit seemed pale and terrified.

"_Incoming call for approaching craft. Identify yourself and reason of landing_."

"Ask to speak to Malon Ranch," Shad hurried to say.

Link glanced back, but obeyed.

"Connect us to Malon Ranch."

There was a silence, a click, and then a feminine voice said, crackling on the airwave, "_Malon Ranch_."

"We're a Hylian Alliance Air Force ship," the captain announced as soon as he could, "we've got Shad Knowing on board, and if you don't let us land, we're all going to die," Link said, trying to keep the Flit from pitching downward. The outright admission of their precarious state made Kidd, Colin and Shad look paler than they already were.

"_Shad Knowing?_" The voice of their new air-controller sounded surprised. The next sentence held no trace of emotion, though. "_Will Shad Knowing please give confirmation of―_"

Shad grabbed Link's mouthpiece and said, as regally as his rising panic allowed, "Malon, let this ship onto your docks or I'll―"

"_Shaddy!_" The voice exclaimed, apparently needing no further confirmation."_Is that you in the rickety old Flit that keeps dropping at random?_" She was excited and completely oblivious, it seemed, to their plight. "_I thought you knew better than to get into a Flit that didn't have an onboard mechanic?_"

Sheik, his temper steadily growing fouler, said, plugging his headset into the outgoing line, "I take offence at that, and we're―"

Link turned to Shad, who was trying not to lose his cool, and said, bad mood obvious, "Look, I know it's been a long time and all, but if you don't get us a landing pad in the next minute, we're dead."

The aristocrat, assaulted by the sounds of Sheik defending his mechanical knowledge, Link's prompts, and their air-controller's ―Malon's― excited chirping, suddenly hollered, "Quiet!" The command was so loud it could clearly be heard over the loud sputters of the engine, and it was followed by a stunned silence.

Link, who had until then disregarded the aristocrat as a useless tagalong, smirked and bowed his head with an amused tilt.

"_Am I to conclude that this is an emergency landing?_" Malon Ranch asked, surprisingly calm and efficient now.

Shad turned to the captain-pilot and raised a mildly sardonic brow. The Flit hiccupped; the engines slowed for a heart stopping moment before quivering back to their previous strength.

"_Yes_," Link nervously cried, "_it is_!"

"Alright," the controller coolly said. "Tell the pilot to head to platform A-5. It's on the eastern side of the landing pods; take it from the northeast. The wind is favourable. And have the mechanic switch oil levels to hovercrafts only; the propeller consumes fuel too fast."

As Shad handed the headset back to the pilot, realisation dawned on Sheik and Link. Colin, never one to waste a precious minute, had already entered precision data into his board computer and said, "Fifty seconds of fuel, at most."

"With the propeller off, we'll just use wind-power to give us the push forward," Link breathed.

"Take a tight curve around that tower," Colin said, indicating a large, egg-shaped building that floated in front of them, attached to the main city by cables and a loose bridge. "The platform is on the low outer-rim; we can afford to lose a tiny bit of altitude."

Platform A-5 was not the most elegant of facilities, but it was the most beautiful thing the crew had seen in the past few hours. The Flit hiccupped again, and Link pressed the commands forward as far as they could go.

"Don't die, don't die, don't die, don't die…"

The Flit's engines sputtered to a halt.

"Fuel tanks empty!" Colin cried, uselessly.

The Flit was still hanging mid-air, moving forward with its inertia. With a glance at each other, Colin, Sheik and Link physically threw themselves over the commands towards the cockpit window. Under their combined weight, the airship lurched forward and down, only to crash straight onto the platform, screech to a halt…

And fall silent, a squeak of pocked metal creaking from time to time as the strong altitude winds blew against the stopped Flit.

It had landed, if inelegantly, on the lower platform of the Sky City.

Shakily, Link drew a breath and fell back into his seat, as every passenger sat, waiting, breathless. The silence that had fallen over them was stunned, tense, hesitating, as if scared to be relieved.

"I think…"

"Were you always this reckless?" Shad asked, his voice a tad more high-pitched than usual.

Ignoring his trembling hands, Link raised both brows and flippantly said, "Only in the mornings." His voice was also nervous, however.

"Oh," Shad said, "I feel much better now."

"_Now see?_" Malon Ranch's voice suddenly sounded over the radio. "_That wasn't so hard, right?_"

"That was a bang-up job," Sheik grumbled. "And if the Flit gets to fly again after this, I―"

Wulf barked. Kidd and Colin slowly turned, only to find the dog, which had bravely kept silent during the rough flight, jumping and agitated. He padded over to Link and Shad's seats, turned, ran back to the resting area's doors, barked again, wagged his tail, gazed at them with intelligent blue eyes, beseeching.

Kidd, who had held on to the back of Colin's seat through the final minutes of flight, stood on uncertain legs and hobbled over to the resting area. The thief's blue eyes widened and he suddenly cried, "She's moving!"

Shad was out of his seat faster than Link could think and had reached the princess' side, bringing a hand to the woman's mud-caked forehead. Sheik, rather than get in the way ―Link had hurried over too― went for the door's latch and was pulling it open with a grunt. Colin was the first to disembark, followed closely by Sheik. Their legs looked shaky.

"How is she?" Link asked, kneeling by the monarch's bedside, examining her flushed face, wondering why she seemed to be in such pain. Had they overlooked possible injuries from her crash and jarred one of her bones?

"Feverish," Shad curtly replied, his hand wiping away the princess' sweaty brow. "It's causing her nightmares, I think."

Her brow was furrowed, muscles tense.

Link took a waterskin out of a secured box and offered the aristocrat a cloth, but the bespectacled man shook his head.

"She needs medical assistance more than anything."

Link shot a glance towards the door. Colin was apparently keeping an eye, ready to relay messages on the radio, while Sheik was out of sight, probably evaluating damage to the craft. Kidd was standing nearby, a hand on Wulf's collar, trying to keep the large dog out of the way.

The pilot-captain nodded to the young thief. "Could you keep an eye on the dog, Kidd?"

The pickpocket, surprised that he'd been given a job to do so soon, smiled and nodded.

"Should I call for help?" Colin asked, looking concerned. Shad and Link concerted one another with a glance, and Shad finally stood.

"She needs… I need to talk to Malon."

Link watched as the scholar walked out, glanced helplessly at the princess, then called, "Hey, at least help me with your girlfriend here."

"She's not my girlfriend," Shad Knowing curtly replied, eyes flashing in the captain's direction, "and give me a second."

The aristocrat stepped out of the aircraft, followed by Kidd ―and a leashed Wulf― who looked amazed by the immensity of the floating city. Platform A-5 wasn't the largest in the city, but it was certainly massive. Overhead, a few large buildings hovered and spun slowly in the winds. The main masses of buildings ―the city's core― hovered higher, too big for either Kidd or Colin to envision. Platform A-5 wasn't even part of the main units; instead it floated some distance away, connected to the rest of the buildings with some flexible bridges and cables. To their left they could see Platforms A-3 and A-4, deserted for the time being.

Under the city, everything seemed of black metal and asphalt or white aluminum and cement, such that it shone brightly in the morning light, reflecting bright sunlight off slick curves and dishes, with large, thick cables, pipes and tubes. The city's hovercrafts were larger than anything they had ever seen, like monstrous contraptions under massive alien ware.

A woman appeared out of a building identified with a massive letter 'A'. Egg-shaped and much smaller than most buildings, it looked like a simple command post of minor importance, situated on neighbouring platform A-4.

The woman, bright red hair tied back away from her face, walked at a brisk, confident pace, with long strides and her head held high. She wore a snug, deep blue leather mechanic's suit, one that was meant to protect from grease stains but which accentuated her gait and the sway of her hips.

"I didn't know they still made attractive mechanics," Link commented, having carried the princess towards the Flit door, now watching the redhead coming their way. Sheik, who was done examining the sorry state of their engine, critically watched the approaching woman with a mix of discomfort and defensiveness.

Snapping out of it, the sergeant turned back to watching the engine's cooldown with a frown, and said, "If that was an attack on _my_ looks, Forester, I'm throwing you out of the city."

Link laughed and adjusted his hold on the princess' feverish form, glancing out at the white clouds and blue skies beyond the platform edge. "I think that's the first time that threat actually scared me."

Sheik did his best to keep his lips from turning upwards, and failed; they twitched up at the corners. He averted his gaze and returned his attention to Shad Knowing, who had marched ahead to talk with the redhead.

"Think she's his girlfriend?" The mechanic asked as he watched the two converse, prompting a curious, surprised look from Link.

"I don't know," the captain answered, looking at the pretty redhead's face going from excited to curious to grave. "Why the question? You never ask questions."

"Oh, how uncharacteristic of me," Sheik deadpanned, eyes fixed on the redhead's face ―she had eyes like a deep cloudless sky― and, speculatively, he added, "They seem to know one another."

"Well I think our friend Shad Knowing was born here. His father _is_ Thaddeus Knowing. He would probably know a few people," Link said, jutting his chin out in thought, eyes searching the large hovercrafts of the City in the Sky.

"Thaddeus Knowing?" Colin suddenly asked, and when Link confirmed it with a nod, he turned admiring eyes to their passenger as he seemingly exposed their situation to the pretty redheaded mechanic. "Well, I don't understand why he'd be so reluctant to come here…"

But before Link or Sheik could offer possible answers, the redhead and Shad came in hearing range. The three, along with Kidd, who was busy ruffling Wulf's thick fur ―to the animal's delight―, fell silent as they heard the last few words of the aristocrat's conversation.

"… Why are you back anyway?" The woman asked. "I thought you'd never return. I _am_ glad, but…"

Shad Knowing took a deep breath and shot the Flit's crew a glance as they stopped before the fallen aircraft. "Something made it inevitable." He glanced at the main structure of the City in the Sky and his expression darkened. "Who else knows I'm here?" From his tone, it seemed he wasn't asking about people in general, but about one person alone.

"I didn't flag your name," the redhead said, her pretty features turned serious through the slight pursing of her lips and inclination of her head. "I flagged you as a military airship in need of emergency assistance."

"That works too," Link remarked, and the woman turned her attention to him. When she saw his smile, she seemed to warm up instantly, before turning back to Shad.

"If you're asking about your father, he doesn't know."

"He mustn't," Shad confirmed with a curt nod, gold-rimmed glasses shining a little in the sunlight. He focused on the Flit and its crew again. "We'll need your help, Malon."

The redhead shot the Flit an eloquent glance. "I can see that, yeah." Her tone was flat and a little amused. She ambled towards the aircraft speculatively and listed things off her fingers. "You'll need an oil recharge, a new balancing, hovercrafts fixed―" she brought a hand flat against the engine's metallic surface and, feeling the heat, continued, "―a new cooling system, a full fuel tank, some serious dent removal and―" her eyes landed on Link as the captain held the unconscious monarch, "―a way to dispose of corpses, apparently." She turned in one swift movement, to the auburn-haired scholar. "What's going on?"

"She's weak from hypothermia," Shad explained, dodging the obvious question. "I was hoping your unit could take care of her. She's feverish."

Malon pursed her lips gravely. "I'm afraid that will be a little more difficult to provide than refuelling. Ever since the war began, your father has been keeping close tabs on who we bring medical assistance to. I can easily give you technical help without trouble, but hospital care might not be as easy to supply."

Shad looked at a loss as all gazes fell on him. "But… what about your father? Hasn't he got a small care unit?"

Malon's pretty face seemed to sour, and her eyes saddened, lips pressed in a grim line. "Dad died six months ago near the Waker frontier. It was an accidental encounter with the Guardian Coalition. They didn't believe his neutrality."

Sheik looked up, reddish-brown eyes sharp. It was hard to determine what he felt, Link considered, but he seemed sympathetic and understanding. It was a rare expression on the sergeant's usually noncommittal face.

Shad, on his part, seemed stunned. He stammered, "Oh-uh… I'm… I'm so sorry, Malon." His face said that he was speaking the truth. "I hadn't… Well, I hadn't heard."

Malon took a deep breath and motioned to the feverish woman in Link's grasp and asked, deliberately avoiding the subject, "Maybe if you told me who she is, I could justify medical care to the higher ups?"

There was a tense silence, during which everyone looked at Shad, then at the unconscious beauty, then back at Shad and Malon. The redhead seemed amused.

"Come on, Shad," she said. "If you won't tell _me_, who _will_ you tell? Obviously you don't want her found, so I might as well know how secretive I need to be."

Finally, the aristocrat burst out with, "She's the princess of Hyrule, Zelda Harkinian."

Malon Ranch seemed amused, until she realised none of them were laughing along. Her brows rose high, her mouth gaped a little, and she breathed, "Well, _bonk me_." Colin flushed a little.

"Look," Shad said, "just take her in. If we have no choice, I'll talk to my father. Better me than the princess."

"That's risky," Malon cringed.

The aristocrat didn't seem to be looking forward to the meeting either, but he said, "I'll _make_ him help us."

"You know he's been in a… bad mood since you left, right?" The redheaded mechanic reminded him. Link, Sheik, Kidd and Colin watched the exchange critically. Shad seemed to hesitate for a moment, but then his usually soft features hardened.

"I'll make him help us," he repeated. He turned to Link. The captain was still holding on to the princess protectively. Something about that seemed to bother the aristocrat, but he shook it off and said, "Please carry her and follow Malon to the medical unit. I'll get my father to power it."

"Can we count on you?" Sheik asked, prompting a few uncertain looks from his partners.

Even Malon seemed to have her doubts.

But rather than provide any answer, Shad was grimly silent. He turned on his heel and walked off, the tails of his coat billowing in the strong winds that swept the platform.


	10. 1-10 - The Rich Son

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 10: THE RICH SON  
><strong>

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><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, the City in the Sky Celestia<br>Main tower, wing A_

Shad could tell the City in the Sky had changed and evolved in the time he had been gone. It was extensive and buildings that had been in construction years ago were now complete and fed power to new scaffoldings. The City was forever growing. From above the city floor, the hovercrafts were invisible, but he could feel them humming below in a way he found disconcertingly comforting.

Shrugging the flood of memories off, he took a deep breath and stepped into the massive hall. Sliding doors hissed shut behind him.

As he had expected, the hall was mostly empty. His father had never liked commotion. Shad's eyes rose to the vaulted ceilings, remembered thinking the City in the Sky was a floating cathedral that pretentiously wished to be closer to the gods. As beautiful and advanced as it could be, the city was still only man-made.

Light spilled into the hall and cast bright spots of blooming white in the corner of his eyes. He liked the light, but here it was almost trying to weigh the city down, push it back to the ground; punish it for defying nature's way. He started envying the quiet sombreness of his study.

"… Shad?"

The scholar turned suddenly, meeting the gaze of a small bird-like creature. Shad had never been very comfortable with the Oocca. As fascinating as they were, he found their diminutive size, the thin, sparse feathers and the freakishly large heads disturbing to look at. If they weren't so intelligent, he'd actively seek to avoid their company.

"Ooccoo?" He asked.

Ooccoo was possibly the only member of her species that Shad felt somewhat at ease with. She had taught him almost everything he knew after his mother had passed, including her grasp of Old Hylian, and had, along with Malon, argued that he stay and try to make amends rather than storm off.

But he hadn't listened to her, and did not regret it much.

"Shad," the Oocca female clucked. "_Luon tym nonn veto_… I didn't think I'd see you again."

"Long time no see indeed, Ooccoo. I didn't even think I'd return," he admitted. "Is my… is my father in his workshop again?"

If the Oocca had the facial muscles necessary to express emotions, he had no doubt that Ooccoo would have expressed hope. "Yes. Have you come to your _sinyat_ then?"

"My senses?" Shad echoed callously. "I'm not crawling back to him with apologies, if that's what you're asking."

Here, she would probably have shown disappointment. "_Lode _Thaddeus missed you in the time you were gone," she softly declared.

"I'm sure," Shad snorted. "Missed having company, I suppose. It was his fault that he lost Mother and I in the first place, though, Ooccoo."

"_Eyn yulo_," Ooccoo said, hobbling on her little chicken legs to keep up with his long, angry strides, "he felt guilt for driving you away. He cares."

"I'm not 'your boy'. And that's easy to say when I'm not there," Shad angrily growled. "But all he ever really cared about were his stupid projects and visions of grandeur and godliness."

They reached the doors to the private laboratory. It was shockingly nondescript, but Shad knew that behind it, his father was putting the family intelligence to use. He paused and hesitated.

"He didn't care that Mother needed help," he softly said.

"He loved _ja e jan mater_ dearly," Ooccoo gently argued, the cool voice of reason characteristic of her species. It was another part of what Shad found disturbing about them; they always seemed so controlled, so aloof and capable in spite of their freakish forms, so superior to Hylian kind. It bothered Shad that they were so developed mentally and so weak physically.

"Obviously, he didn't care enough," he said, and pressed an access code next to the door. Ooccoo didn't reply as the door hissed open and he stepped through, shutting her out.

Instantly, he was assaulted by the strong smell of chemical products, and they called forth a set of memories that he had no interest in focusing on. He wasn't here to indulge his long-time anger; he needed to help Zelda.

His father wasn't busy mixing products or calculating large numbers. As he reached the place where he knew the desk would be, Shad felt apprehension fill him.

And then, gathering his courage, he stepped out from between the shelves of potted plants and slime jars.

His father was reading. Even when focusing, his father looked overactive, preoccupied and nervous. He always seemed animated with excitement or tension. Shad hadn't inherited that trait; his mother had thankfully given him the ability to settle comfortably and study without fidgeting.

Still, seeing the familiar mess of papers and open books, the large gathering of unusual and mysterious objects, coupled with gilded pendulums, clocks, compasses, anemometers, barometers, sextants, disks and spheres, brought memories rushing back to him. Images of warmth, curiosity and awe drifted through his mind too quickly to be grasped.

His father's study had not changed in the years Shad had been gone.

Even Thaddeus Knowing, the man, had not changed drastically. He'd grown a little thinner, his hair a little greyer, but overall, the man still looked remarkably like Shad's memory had immortalized him, down to the ink marks on his fingers, the rumpled overcoat and the wide rectangular glasses that Shad had played with as a child. Thaddeus Knowing was like an old photograph; sight familiar but full of long-gone times.

And, Shad noticed, he seemed a little distant, a little confused, as if he was working very hard to get to a place he couldn't find.

That, at least, was different.

"Ooccoo," the man suddenly said, his voice rising and so familiar to Shad ―he became aware of how alike he and his father sounded, "Where did I put my notes on perpetual engines?"

When Ooccoo ―who wasn't there― did not reply, Thaddeus Knowing looked up.

His facial expression didn't change. For a moment, Shad feared his father didn't recognize him, but finally, the man breathed, "Shad."

Unable to meet his father's gaze for too long, Shad averted his eyes and focused one of the navigational instruments that littered the desk, heart pounding in his chest with leftover anger and a defined streak of melancholy. "Father."

Unexpectedly, Thaddeus Knowing stood. It occurred to Shad that he looked weak, tired, and much closer to old age than Shad had anticipated. This made him uneasy, but before he could tell his father to stay seated, the man spoke.

"Twelve years," he said, breathing audible through his nose. "Twelve years you've been gone and now you've come back, in the thick of war." Through his square glasses, Thaddeus Knowing's eyes pierced his only son with a calculated, evaluating stare. Then, with acidity Shad had thought only _he _could still muster, the older man said, "So the world had no use for you, and spat you out?"

All hopes for a pacifistic reunion flew out the window and into the clouds, crumbling to the ground miles below.

"The world didn't spit me out," Shad said with asperity. "I'm here because I―"

"Need help, huh?" Thaddeus Knowing interrupted. He slowly walked over to one of his dusty shelves and started pulling out books, uninterested. "You couldn't figure things out for yourself. I always knew you'd come crawling back. This is where the money is."

Feeling himself flush in anger, Shad cruelly replied, "I earned enough money to get away from here and from you, if I remember properly!"

"Fat lot of good it did you," Thaddeus Knowing snorted, dropping two large volumes on his desk.

"It probably saved my life," Shad ground out. "Or were you planning to let me go? I doubt it. You didn't let _her_ leave."

That hit home. Thaddeus Knowing turned a sharp glare towards his son. "That has _nothing_ to do with―"

"_It has everything to do with it_," Shad suddenly bellowed. "_Everything_!"

There was a long, tense silence. Father and son glared at one another, hearing the last echoes of Shad's scream vanish in the high ceiling vaults.

"You idiotic fool," Thaddeus Knowing mumbled, then snarled, "you could never understand."

"Understand what?" the young aristocrat stonily asked. "There's nothing to understand. The facts are obvious enough."

"There must always be one of us here," Thaddeus Knowing said, his tone weary. His hand reached up to the watch on his wrist absently. His expression soured. "So, are you here to kill the one who gave you everything?"

Shad snorted derisively, feeling contempt blacken his thoughts. "And took it all back, might I add. … But _vengeance_?" He sniffed with disgust. "The only killer here is _you_."

"I didn't _kill her_!" Thaddeus howled suddenly, and Shad almost recoiled at the anguish he heard in his father's voice. The old man stumbled backwards a little, eyes wild, a hand flying out to grab the edge of the desk and steady him. Shaking like a brittle leaf, lowering himself into a chair and facing away from his only son, he whispered, "I didn't."

Something softened Shad's desire to accuse again. Stepping forward hesitantly, he said, "Father, I―"

"You think I let her die, boy," Thaddeus said, and though Shad could not see his face properly, as the old man had turned, he knew bitter disdain when he heard it, "but she was weak long before any of this started." He was still shaking, his hands still clawing at the wood of his desk. "You think I didn't love her." Thaddeus Knowing's gaze turned, and Shad saw himself reflected in the dark blue eyes, piercing from under thick, greying brows. "But what do you know about love?"

"More than you, obviously," Shad ground out, insulted. "I would have stopped building. I would have sent her away. She needed doctors."

Thaddeus Knowing's gaze filled with contempt and intense pain. "She wanted to _stay_, you fool," he growled, his voice wavering almost imperceptibly. "Who was I to deny her? She died because I wanted to make her happy; she didn't want to be parted from you, from me. I didn't send her away… but I didn't kill her."

Deep hatred and frustration welled up inside, clawing at Shad's insides, and he felt the urge to childishly scream that he just didn't understand.

"Why, then," he asked, gritting his teeth, "didn't you just abandon the project and leave with us? _Why_? Mother would have followed us anywhere! Why didn't you take her to a place where she'd be safe and treated, away from _this godforsaken city_?"

"Celestia wanted to _stay_!" Thaddeus Knowing screamed, standing again, turning enraged eyes on his son. "Are you simple, son? I couldn't abandon this place, it's―" He stopped himself. Shad knew what he had been about to say though. 'It's too precious'. 'It's perpetual motion itself'. The City's Core made no mechanical sense, and Shad knew his father kept its secrets securely. Still, Thaddeus continued, "I couldn't send my wife away!" He snarled, and when he spoke next, spittle flew from his mouth. "Don't dare pretend you'd have done better, you ungrateful fool!"

Shad's anger was pouring over him like boiling oil. "This city always was more important than Mother and I, wasn't it? In your guilt, you named the city Celestia to make foolhardy amends. But it was too late. She was already dead." His voice cracked there, and he averted his eyes.

A heavy, pained silence fell over the two men.

After a long moment, Thaddeus Knowing stood again and walked to one of the small windows on the far side of his study. His voice, when he spoke, was tired and resigned.

"And so, we are forever doomed to hate one another. You will not forgive something that was inevitable, and we bear a grudge we cannot resolve. What should I expect? Why are you here?"

The last question brought Shad to his senses. Something inside him snapped back into place, and a vivid burst of memory reminded him of Zelda's predicament. Zelda, whose pallor had worried him for days before the accident. Zelda, who may not get help because of his very temper.

Someone else was at agony in the Sky City, and this time Shad would not stand by powerless.

Shad took a deep breath and willed himself to speak.

"Father," he said, "As you said, I can not forgive you. I left this place because it was yours and I could not stand the very smell of the air." He saw his father turn, stare, glare, even. Courageously, he went on, "But I am still your son; you are still my father. Whatever you ask of me in exchange for the favour I ask, I will do."

Thaddeus Knowing looked up, an intelligent gaze fixed upon his only son, mentally calculating odd possibilities, swiftly evaluating risks. His hand reached up to his watch.

Cautiously, he asked, "What kind of favour?"


	11. 1-11 - The Escort

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 11: THE ESCORT**

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><p><em>18<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, over the mountains between Waker and Samasa<br>Guardian Coalition ship, Captain Dark Knight's industrial Flit_

Dark Knight was beginning to loathe flying. Ever since they'd left the Forsaken Fortress in Waker, the tension in the cockpit of the large Flit was so heavy that he couldn't believe they had managed to take off.

He was a grown man and could accept that part of that tension was his fault, but he also had no doubt that the vicious cold front emanating from the Twilight princess' shoulder was real and not, as he hoped, a mere figment of his imagination.

There were, after all, the regular sharp glances she shot him whenever his hand strayed in her direction, mostly to brush a few controls here and there, the way she otherwise turned her face away from him in disdain, and the way she was resolutely silent. As far as cold shoulders went, Midna Black was capable of the most impressive ones Dark had ever encountered in a woman. And that was saying something, because Aveil was pretty good at being nasty. When she wasn't busy letting him do unspeakable acts to her body behind a power furnace, that was.

Dark almost smiled at the memory. Why did women from the desert have such amazing breasts? It didn't really matter, but he _was_ curious.

Just look at Midna Black for instance. Straight out of the barren lands of Twilight, the princess was graced with the chest and hips of a pagan goddess. Pagan goddesses were the only reason he had bothered to enter libraries during his military training, and he remembered every picture from the old mythology books with great fondness.

Huh.

Maybe the reason Midna Black was so tense about him was that he was practically simmering with the urge to put the Flit on autopilot and show her the true meaning of tension.

Entertained by further thoughts, Dark felt a goofy smirk stretch his lips without his permission. As far as he was concerned, fantasy-Midna was better than real-life-Midna, mostly because fantasy-Midna liked to parade on his lap with no clothes.

"I didn't know they built Flit joysticks in pilots' pants nowadays."

The princess' comment nearly made him jump, and the Flit lurched a little by the jolt of his hand on the controls. Steadying himself, he shot her a surprised look, saw her shooting the front of his pants a look that was everything but impressed, glanced down, then back up, and smirked.

"There's a reason they call 'em joysticks, sweetheart."

Still unflustered by his state, she rolled her eyes and looked away. Disappointed ―that had been their only spoken exchange in the past two hours―, Dark focused on piloting again. They would reach Samasa in one hour, where they'd rest and refuel before making the longest leg of their journey to the northeast and New Kasuto. She had seemed reluctant to discuss flight plans with him, and so he'd taken it upon himself to figure it out on his own. Too bad for her.

He was about to make a comment about how dangerous Samasa could be when she spoke again.

"How old are you?"

The question took his off-guard, mostly because it was the first time she'd shown real interest in him that wasn't related to their trip.

Offhandedly, he replied, "About twenty-eight. You?"

"Twenty-seven." That she had actually answered him in turn was almost enough to stun him. Then she asked, eyes fixed on the mountains outside her cockpit window, "How long have you been in the army?"

"I lose count," he admitted.

" '_About_' twenty-eight? What do your records say?"

"What is this?" He asked, and if he had really cared, he might have been defensive, "A medical examination?"

She turned sharp eyes on him, and he almost felt like offering apologies for his reply; instead, he met her gaze with his own dark brown eyes.

Finally, he relented, "I don't remember much of my time before joining the Military Academy. I enlisted sometime around fourteen. I have no birth records or memos." He noticed that she was about to ask another question and he added, with a shrug, "Not that it really matters. Not having an identity is a pretty good asset for a soldier."

And it was true. In a way, he cared very little about who he really was.

She snorted, as though she thought little of him for disregarding his past. "And you joined the Guardian Coalition… why?"

Somehow, Dark knew her question wasn't just conversational; he glanced at her then focused on piloting again. "Worried I might turn my back on you, sweetheart?"

"Don't call me sweetheart ―I am royalty."

"I am piloting this Flit ―I'm in control."

Exasperated, the princess tensed, tiredly looking up at the skies, as if asking for patience ―or for heavenly wrath to strike him down―, then turned away and did not speak another word. Dark started missing the distraction quickly.

"_So_," he drawled, waiting for an acknowledgment that she was paying attention and when he received none, he continued anyway, "Why did _you_ join the Guardian Coalition? I mean, since you obviously hate it?"

"What," Midna Black asked irately and suddenly, "will it take for you to stop assuming my political opinions are any of your business? You obviously have no grasp of my motives, so why insist?"

Dark laughed. "Good question." He eyed her long legs, fingers itching to reach out and touch her thighs. "Maybe insisting will get you to open up."

The princess merely said, staring pointedly out the cockpit window, "You're going to crash into a mountain side."

The rock face loomed dangerously close, dry and treacherous.

Cursing, Dark turned away and forced the Flit to swerve suddenly, avoiding a collision with rock and ice narrowly. Heart beating at high speed, shoulders tense, he gritted his teeth and said, with passion, "I _hate_ flitting."

She rolled her eyes. "I can only pray we get to Samasa intact. New Kasuto seems unattainable."

That was another thing. He was going to fly with her in the passenger seat for _hours_ on end. If they didn't end up maiming each other, he had to hope it was because of some sort of kinky sex.

Mountains. Ice. Pilot the Flit. Stop looking at the Twilight princess' legs. Easy. He would get to it in just a moment.

"I hope you know what you're doing, bringing a royal into a city of thieves."

She didn't look scared, only amused.

Dark clenched his jaw and pretended that he was perfectly aware of what entering Samasa entailed. Even though he wasn't.

Not by a long shot.


	12. 1-12 - The Traitor

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 12: THE TRAITOR**

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><p><em>19<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, Samasa<br>A small east market street_

Samasa. Dark had been there before, to scour for information and buy a few unusual goods. He liked to qualify the town as beautifully hideous. In its great desire to appear normal and utilitarian, the bandit town had become strange and full of quirks. 'Utilitarian' had a different connotation here, seeing as the city was a refuge for thieves and crime masters of all calibres. Mayor-less, it was ruled by whoever owned most of the city at any time. It was not unusual here to see seemingly nondescript doors heavily guarded by massive armed guards or garbage chutes that looked suspiciously large enough to accommodate an unconscious body.

Still, in spite of his localized need to sleep with a knife under his pillow, Dark liked Samasa a great deal more than the self-proclaimed capital of Holodrum, Horon City. Samasa, for one, had breathable air. Sure, it often carried suspicious smells and he'd more than once taken lungfuls of something that had left him unusually cheerful, but that had still been non-toxic. Possibly.

"Charming place," Midna Black casually observed, watching with little emotion as a few thuggish bandits broke the display window of a small store, causing alarms and screams to screech out. A small fight was starting to their left.

"I like it," Dark grinned, squinting up at the sky, painted a bright orange by the setting desert sun. Cliffs rose to the west of the city, and it had crawled up into the cliff like ivy, buildings and towers unbothered by any change in relief. "It has character. Ain't another town like it. I could elope here."

She ignored him. "Did you leave the Flit in reliable hands?" Someone almost bumped into her, but she fixed the passer-by ―most likely a pickpocket― with a glare that was so evil and malicious that the man actually backed away in terror.

Dark, amused, replied, "Well, actually, I never met the man before and he seemed eager to help us."

Midna did not look amused. "Your jokes are embarrassingly bad."

He sighed and admitted, "Alright, alright. His name is Ingo Gorman and he's a saint compared to the average townsman here. He'll refill and restock without questioning." There was a pause, and when Midna Black raised a single brow, he admitted, "For a handsome price, yes, but Samasa needs dirty money to keep running. Think of it as encouraging the local economy."

She rolled unimpressed eyes and asked, "If your grubby-handed friend provides for our needs, why are we wandering into the city?"

"He won't _feed us_, too." Dark Knight turned and stopped walking. He now observed his companion with an annoyed look. "Look, I didn't force you to come along, did I? I even suggested you stay behind―"

"―With your, and I quote, 'romantic, talented and rose-scented friend'―"

Dark smiled briefly, but continued, "―so if you're not happy, I'm not forcing you to stay."

She shot him a flat look. "Can I at least know where you're headed so I can decide whether following you is worth it?"

He raised a finger and opened his smiling mouth to say, "No."

She glared at him, arms crossed over her lovely chest. "And why would that be?"

He sauntered over to her and she continued glaring up at him.

"Because," he breathed with a smirk, "I wouldn't mind company and I can tell this secrecy is agonizing to you."

Something in her face twitched, but only a little so that it could have been a trick of the light. Then, with a supremely disgusted and sarcastic voice, she said, "And you think you can read me so easily, do you?"

He faked surprise, said "Who said anything about reading? It's plain as day."

And he resumed his walk.

"For a man with so few credentials and an average curriculum," she said, falling into step behind him, easily matching his long strides, "you certainly manage to speak out of rank." She shot him a glance that said she _had_, in fact, read his file, though how she had gained access to it would probably remain forever a mystery. "I'll be sure to leave note to your superiors."

He snorted. Cheeky bitch. "No offence, princess, but odds are they don't give a rat's ass what you think of me ―or anything, for that matter― given that they didn't offer escort and you had to hitch a ride with _me_―"

"And see where _that_ got me," she grumbled.

He shot her a surprisingly benevolent look. "It's not all that bad. You can trust me. Seriously, why didn't they offer you your own airship?"

She shot him a gaze full of contempt and suspicion. "And again, your questions are out of line."

He slowed down and stopped in front of a nondescript door, above which a tired, sand-beaten sign was too faded to be read. He looked over his shoulder and raised both brows cheerfully. "I wouldn't dare speculate that maybe you're not truly a friend of Ganondorf Dragmire, and that maybe he knows this enough to keep you on a short leash. No, you're right. I can't possibly know that you're going to cut alliances when the time comes."

And he pushed the door open. He missed the stunned look on Midna Black's face, but it didn't seem to matter to him. He engulfed himself into the building, and she followed suit.

Smoke fogged her vision, and she struggled to keep up with Dark Knight's back. She wanted to reach out and grab his shirt, but it seemed like a silly thing to do.

At the end of a short, narrow hallway, the two travellers entered a rather large room furnished with tables and chairs. She recognized the sweet smoke floating around as something of illicit origins, and she did her best to avoid inhaling too much of it, to little avail.

"Deku Leaf?" She coughed, covering her mouth and nose with a hand.

Dark nodded.

Her eyes watered and her breath was short. "That is disgusting."

He turned back with a grin, but it wavered when he saw her obvious discomfort. "Ah, just follow me."

He put a hand to her shoulder and hurried her around the tables to the back of the smoke-filled bar, where a ventilation shaft allowed them to breathe a bit better. He patted her shoulder companionably, but she only shot him what could be qualified as a furious little glare. He hastened to take his hands away.

"What are we doing here?" She breathed, noticing the lusty gazes of a few confused patrons. For the first time, she was beginning to have second thoughts about her nation's usual choice of apparel. It seemed all too skimpy then.

"Do you really want to sit next to the Flit for the next eight hours, bored out of your mind?" He asked, rhetorically. She rolled her eyes and stifled a new cough. He frowned. "You really can't handle the smoke, can you?"

"Oh, no, I'm perfectly all right," she sarcastically commented, eyes unusually wet, "I make a habit of not breathing. I'm getting good at it."

"Funny," he wryly commented. "Let's get you something to eat."

He dragged her through again. Normally, she'd have argued that she knew how to walk, but as things stood, she could hardly see, her eyes watered so much from the smoke. Not to mention she was certain the fumes were altering her state of consciousness and Midna disliked the idea.

"She'll have a green," Dark told the tired but unusually cheerful bartender, "I'll have a red. And a small cauldron of Superb Soup. Thanks."

"You have the worst choice of joints," Midna coughed when the tender slowly ambled away to bring them their meal. "If my people saw this, they would be outraged."

He grinned at her. "But they're not here, are they?" Her malevolent glare was the only reply he got. "Don't worry. One taste of green potion and all your troubles will be far away."

She glanced at the boneless, half-conscious patrons slouched around at the tables. Disgusted, she commented, "I'm not sure I want that. In fact, I'm certain I don't."

He rolled his eyes with a mild smile and said, to the returning bartend, "We'll be taking the terrace."

The man still looked as confused as before, but he eventually nodded, eyes drooping more than ever. Dark forced a grin and slapped thirty rupees on the counter. He handed both their drinks to Midna, who still looked angry, and motioned for her to follow him, taking the small soup pot himself.

He lead her around a little wall to a narrow staircase that opened on a second floor, before pushing up a trap-door and inviting her onto the building's flat roof. She stepped out and had to admit that the sight of the red setting sun over the orange desert dunes was a sight to behold. Wind blew over the rooftop, cooling them off quickly, and she felt comforted. This looked so much like her hometown of Nightfall in Twilight that she couldn't help a little smile.

"I saw that," an irritating male voice said, too close for comfort.

She turned an annoyed eye to Dark Knight as he passed by her and headed to the covered section of the terrace. Cloth and wooden supports offered what would have been protection from the sun in the middle of the day. For now, it was just decorative.

The rooftop, she noticed, was deserted, and they had the whole lounge to themselves. She saw Dark put the pot down on a low table and sit back in a long chair with a very pleased sigh. With appetite, he dipped his spoon straight in and ate from the pot.

Midna scrunched her nose. "Would bowls have been too much to ask for?"

"They cost extra," Dark said between mouthfuls.

Realising with a certain pang of annoyance that she couldn't just stand there for the next hour or so, she reluctantly joined him. He scooted over on the long chair to make space for her, but she ignored the motion and took a seat for herself.

Even with her stomach rumbling, she could not match his ginger enthusiasm. She dipped her spoon in and reluctantly sipped.

The comfort was immediate. A strong mix of goat cheese and pumpkin assaulted her senses, and before long, she was eating with appetite, both their heads angled over the pot until there was nothing left.

Dark let her have the last few gulps, reclining in the chair with his red potion. It was a strong, rejuvenating drink, one that left his heart beating fast and his fingers tingling. Damned if he knew what it was, though.

They were quiet a while before Dark broke the silence by asking, "Now what do you say about this, hm?"

She had just taken a sip of her green potion and had to admit ―if not aloud― that it was passable. It made her alert and tingly. "About what?" She asked. Her head felt light, probably because of the smoke from downstairs and the comfort of eating so fast on an empty stomach.

"About being here, on a deserted rooftop, taking a drink with yours truly, under a Samasa sunset?"

She turned a longing gaze to the sunset ―the sun had just vanished behind the sands, and the sky glowed a bright orange, the dunes' shadows long and purple― and shook her head slowly.

"It's not quite home, but it'll do for now," she said, and Dark noticed the sadness in those words.

"Why aren't you getting the royal treatment, princess? Why won't Dragmire trust you? Because I'm assuming this is about trust. It's not like he's short of vehicles."

She snorted and rolled her eyes to pin him with an exasperated look. "Captain Knight, you're wasting your time."

"Why won't you trust me?" he asked, seeming not in the least concerned with her obvious refusal to indulge his curiosity. "I'm not asking you to trust the Coalition. I'm a captain in its ranks, but I'm not the Coalition itself. What if the truth was that you need me?"

As pathetic of an attempt as that had been, it was so stupidly frank that she had to grant him an amused smile. Still, she flatly answered him with, "I'm asking you to let it lie. Surely a military man understands that sometimes, you don't need all the answers."

He reclined again, sighing. "Pity. I could have used some motivation to stick around. Ganny Dragmire pays only slightly more than Zelda Harkinian."

His formulation was unsettling. She put her drink down and turned a measuring glance on him. He didn't meet it, having closed his eyes and looking, from what she could tell, about to take a nice nap.

"You wouldn't begin to understand Twilight politics," she softly said.

He mumbled something unclear that sounded suspiciously like 'try me', and settled in more comfortably.

Midna took a deep breath. "Where I'm from, the people have the right to overturn their monarch, and the rule then goes to the next in line. That means that any Twili ruler who plays too long against his or her people will eventually be forced to abdicate in favour of their child. But when a ruler is too young to have children, and all of its designated successors die in such mysterious circumstances that they're said to be cursed, and no one wants to be their successor anymore… Well, you can see how easily a lineage can disappear in favour of the Artificial Design."

"Artificial Design?"

"It is the title given to a deserving high ranking official of Twilight. In the past, high priests and ministers were selected for the title. The Artificial Design is chosen by the people ―here, artificial means that they are not of royal descent but still given a title of great honour― and will permanently replace the aristocracy in the event of non sequitur, that is, if no one is found for a ruler's replacement. Because most rulers can designate their successors, Artificial Designs have only twice ascended to the throne in nearly five centuries of Twilight's existence."

Dark Knight was listening. He peered at her calmly from his chair.

"Unfortunately, this time the kingdom's Artificial Design really, really wants the throne. It is not rare, but never has any Design gone to such desperate lengths for it."

"What do you mean?"

"None of my designated successors has survived being designated," Midna said, and a trace of remorse could be heard in her tone. "They have all died in some way or another… Some of them were my childhood friends."

"How many?"

Midna grit her teeth and stared hard at the purple sky. "Forty-one."

Dark said nothing, but his eyes widened in horror. Midna shot him a sad, ironic smile.

"I know. What madman would work so hard to kill off everyone standing behind me?"

"Can't you have him removed for insanity and murder?" Dark frowned.

Midna shrugged. "The people of Twilight are a superstitious bunch, and the Artificial Design is magnetic in his capacity to rally them. Everyone is convinced that I am cursed. What's worse, I suspect that it was with Ganondorf Dragmire's backing that he convinced my people to join the Guardian Coalition. With my rule already hanging by a thread, and my throne in the people's hands… Well, what choice did I have?"

Realisation dawned on Dark. "Your Artificial Design is de-facto king, isn't he? And Ganondorf Dragmire knows it's just a matter of time before you yourself are removed from the throne. Which is why he's not bothering with your proper treatment."

Midna's eyes filled with anger. "My only choice is to cooperate." She turned a glare on him. "So? Pleased with my reply? Satisfied to see your royal burden is worse off than you?"

Dark rolled his eyes. "The system screwed you. I don't see a way out. But at least you can hang on until an opportunity to get rid of your Artificial Design presents itself."

Midna eyed the captain coolly, but said nothing, and he found he had nothing to add.


	13. 1-13 - The Loyal Officer

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 13: THE LOYAL OFFICER  
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><p><em>19<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, Horon City<br>Eastern Landing Port, dock 34_

From the moment she set foot off the _Argorok_, Nabooru knew she hated Horon City. That Ganondorf Dragmire had chosen this city above others to exert power from made little sense at all. He wasn't from Holodrum in the first place. He could probably have afforded something better. At least, judging from the air quality alone, this place was more polluted than the sewers of Gerudo and Samasa put together. Minus the corpses, perhaps, but then, she couldn't be sure.

"Captain Spirit?"

The woman turned and wondered how young her guide was. He looked no older than sixteen. Surely active soldiers had to be older than that to join the Guardian Army? Sixteen was still childhood. Sometimes she thought twenty was still childhood. Childhood with experience, Dark would have lightly argued, diverted by her musings.

There was nothing in Nabooru's book that condoned the recruitment of children as cannon fodder, however. Did this boy even fully understand what he was doing, or what values the Guardian Coalition stood for? Somehow, judging from his self-important frown and rigid stance, she thought not.

What folly was the world coming to?

"Yes?"

"I've orders to escort you to Admiral Dragmire's command quarters," the boy said, in a voice that had only recently deepened. She was afraid to guess his exact age.

Blinking against the thick pollution that laced the air, the dark-skinned captain turned to look at the _Argorok_, watching its crew and soldiers milling around, mingling with Horon City mechanics, and said, "I'll be right there… I just need to―"

"He said it was an urgent matter," the boy interrupted, having clearly received strict orders, and looking decisively uncomfortable at the idea of cutting a captain short. Or perhaps he was just suffering from the heat. The thick cloud of smog made the air hot and humid.

Feeling annoyance mix with pity for the boy, Nabooru took a shallow breath ―the un-breathable air revolted her― and nodded her assent. "Escort away, then."

Visibly relieved, the boy motioned for her to follow him to a tube carrier that waited in the landing port's station, humming with the magnetic current in its four corner rails. The tube itself, of glass and steel, was hissing with the rapid winds that funnelled inside. She followed the boy in and watched him enter coordinates, uncomfortably.

The boy, perhaps feeling her stare, turned to shoot her an awkward smile that was more a quirk of the lips, like a fearful admission of his own unimportance. The carrier, a transparent thermoplastic pod that hovered between the four rails of the tube, smoothly began its calculated course, forcing its occupants to hold on to its inside railings to keep steady.

Unable to keep herself, the Gerudo captain asked, "How old are you, soldier?"

The boy's eyes were wide, as if he didn't expect the question and his possible answer scared him. He stammered, "Ni-Nineteen."

"Nineteen?" Speculatively, she observed him, the bony and awkward set of his shoulders, the changing skin, the bobbing throat, the dusting of beard on his chin, and knew he was lying. Averting her eyes to focus on the sights outside, she mumbled, "I see."

The boy seemed relieved that she had accepted his lie and coughed awkwardly, hurrying to change the subject.

"Impressive place, isn't it?" He said, nodding at the view.

Nabooru refrained from scrunching her nose, and uttered a vague, "Hm."

In truth, Horon City was ugly. All metal and asphalt, cracked and broken, with littered streets and beggars on every corner, in every doorway. Hideous, cancerous in its expansion, loud and unwelcoming, the place was about as attractive as rotten fruit. It smelled of engine sweat and oil, of rusting machines and waste, of people stacked all over one another, and of the foulest misery. The sounds were soon grating on her nerves, an inharmonious concert of screeches, scratches, grinding, grounding, stomping and crunching, of drunkards yelling and metal torn.

At her obvious lack of awe, the soldier hastily said, "I mean, if you like busy, industrial cities."

Nabooru took a breath of the canned air that was constantly recycled in the pod and asked another question. "Do you know what Admiral Dragmire wants with me?"

"Huh? Um, no. He didn't say. Sir." Dissatisfied with the answer he'd provided, the boy added, "He only said it was urgent that you come to headquarters."

"How old did you say you were?"

The boy almost choked on his own tongue. Eyes wide again, he replied with the same, "Nineteen, Sir."

"Funny," she flatly said. "You don't… look your age."

Clearing his throat and apparently aching to tug at his collar, the boy mumbled, audibly deepening his voice, "I, um… I get that a lot."

Nabooru couldn't keep a smile from pulling at her lips. "They didn't ask you when you were recruited, did they?"

Sheepishly, the boy shook his head.

"I thought so. Me neither." She looked down at her chest and joked, "A glance at my cup size was all they needed."

The boy reflexively looked down at her chest, stared for a moment, before flushing bright pink and turning away, forcing an awkward laugh, one that told Nabooru all she needed to know, save one thing. She considered asking for his name, and finally shrugged it off. The carrier was reaching its destination, and she was beginning to wonder at things more important than a poor boy's fate.

There were no trees in Horon, she realised after a while, having spent a full minute trying to pinpoint what seemed to be missing in the Guardian Coalition's strategic centre. Somehow, the absence of greenery was shocking and made her chest hurt, as if breathing became even more difficult. Something like a dull choking tightened her lungs.

No trees. Even Samasa and Gerudo, two of the most wretched cities in the Alliance, had palms and cacti.

"This is Horon palace," the boy said as the pod slowed down. Nabooru turned to observe the massive building, expecting it to look like every other edifice in the city, all metal, steel, glass and cement.

Instead, the palace was an old-fashioned, sprawling construction, one that had probably been built a century ago, both ostentatious and elegant. The stone had, she could tell, once been white, but pollution and acid rains had blackened it, soiled it with grey grime, melting it with the rest of the industrial city ―a blasphemy. Columns and empty statue bases under Guardian banner holders told of stolen glory, of false modesty, of grim dictators. She wondered what Horon palace had looked like in full splendour, when fountains still gurgled with clear water under now-gone greenery.

The pod stopped in front of the sprawling staircase to the palace, the door hissing open; Nabooru and her guide stepped out onto the platform, the shock of burning hot air after cool recycled ventilation making them wince, as if dealt a vaporous blow.

She followed the boy wordlessly. She was not the most patient of women, it was true, but in this heat everything seemed warped somehow; movements appeared faster or slower than they truly were, words came out distorted. Under the glare of sunlight and humidity of steam engines, she felt herself grow tired fast.

The doors opened for them, and she was grateful for the cool burst of air that greeted them as they entered the great hall. The boy slowed to a halt, clicked his heels, and bowed his head.

"This is where I leave you. Please proceed to the security check."

Security check. Nabooru tiredly nodded and left the boy, without another word. He seemed disappointed, but was soon shooed out by guards.

Come to think of it, there were guards everywhere. Nabooru felt their suspicious gaze pierce her, as though she weren't wearing her uniform to prove her worth.

A tired woman with circled eyes at the reception next to the weapon detector looked up to stare at Nabooru, unimpressed. In a scratchy, uncaring voice, she asked, "Name and ID?"

Her temper quickly getting short, Nabooru took out her cards and clearly announced, "I'm captain Nabooru Spirit of the Air Force. I was told the Admiral wished to see me."

Still unimpressed, the receptionist examined her cards and papers then vaguely motioned for her to pass through the detector. It took five full security checks before she was finally escorted down two long, cold, pretentious hallways and lead through two sets of double doors ―and two more security checks― until she stood before the largest desk she had ever seen, two heavyset doors shutting soundlessly behind her. The room was large, a bit dark, but so orderly that she felt out of place, even in her sharp uniform. It was a wonder anyone could feel at ease here.

Admiral Ganondorf Dragmire was writing. The expensive pen looked out of place in his large, warrior-like hands. Complexion a mix of dark grey and brown, with shocking red hair knotted into an intricate coiffure, his features were strong but not unattractive. Nabooru found herself silently and tensely examining the leader of a growing empire with an uncomfortable mix of fear and interest, as one would look upon a formidable lord.

He didn't bother looking up, she noticed. The pen still scratched against paper, like he had all the time in the world, like she wasn't even there. Somehow she knew that was a sign of true power; the whole world could wait. No, the whole world _knew_ it had to wait.

The writing paused. She saw him move back to examine his text before plunging back into his work, and she momentarily considered speaking up.

He beat her to it. "Captain Nabooru Spirit."

His voice was deep, rumbling like distant thunder, and she thought he really did sound like a conqueror.

"Admiral." Her voice, in comparison, sounded weak and small.

He looked up, then, face completely impassive. His facial features were strong, weathered, like he'd seen his fair share of on-field battles. He had a strong nose and a wide mouth, the corners of which were turned down severely, but what shocked the most were his eyes, gold and piercing, and upsettingly cold under thick orange brows.

Something about his stare sent a chill down Nabooru's back. She straightened.

There seemed to be a moment during which the very air of the room seemed frozen in its place, and she feared to breathe.

Ganondorf Dragmire returned his focus to his work. "How was your trip to Horon?"

Fighting against the inexplicable urge to backtrack out of his office and run, Nabooru Spirit composed herself and replied, "Long." What was there to be afraid of, she rationalized, if she had been so loyal and efficient in following his orders?

Ganondorf Dragmire grunted, glanced down, finishing off his written note with what looked like a flourished signature, folded the letter before she could see what it was about, and put it aside, sitting back to examine her head to toe. There was something about his gaze that unsettled her; it was old and intelligent and far more perceptive than she was accustomed to. The only other eyes that resembled his were Dark's, though Dark did not carry the innate sense of purpose in the sharp depths that Ganondorf Dragmire seemed to have.

He was her superior, and Nabooru could not bring herself to trust him. It was upsetting.

"I read your reports," Admiral Dragmire said, his voice rumbling still, his stare unyielding. "Your deeds over the Gerudo desert a few days ago speak well of you, although I am surprised that you did not push further. You had the manpower."

Nabooru felt the reprimand sting. "The enemy solidified their forces late into the battle. Their defences were impassable once they retreated into the canyon."

"Nevertheless," Ganondorf Dragmire's deep voice rumbled, "I did not appoint you Air Commander so you could make their frontier more difficult to overcome." He eyed her critically. "I am disappointed."

Nabooru did not know what to say to that. The air was cold now, and she saw her commendations and successes melt away until she was but a puddle of failure.

"Permission to speak frankly, sir?"

"Denied." It was like a slap to the face, and the golden eyes of her superior were just as sharp. "I have no time or interest for petty excuses. Your actions, while not _catastrophic_, have nevertheless made us enter a trench war with the Hylian Alliance, and I am not eager to make this a war of attrition."

"Yes, sir," she ground out, feeling tears of humiliation rise.

"We need a decisive win, something that will forever break the defences and morale of the enemy. This is your chance to make amends."

"Yes, sir," she repeated, holding her hands behind her back to keep from shaking.

"I have a task I wish for you to accomplish, a crucial one. It would end the war and ensure the victory of the Guardians of the Future."

Nabooru tensed, taken short. She had expected minor orders, but not this.

"A task?" She echoed.

"It would be almost simple in times of peace, but we are at war," Ganondorf Dragmire said, pushing his large chair back, standing to his full height and confirming that he truly was a giant, tall and broad like a warrior ought to be. "I need you to fetch something for me, and bring it to New Kasuto."

She waited for more. He did not disappoint.

"There is a tool I need you to retrieve from the reaches of Termina. An ally has prepared it for us, but I have not told him where it must go, if only to prevent spies from overhearing.."

"Termina?" Nabooru repeated incredulously. "But… Hyrule and Waker will not suffer my presence over their land, much less on the way to their granary-nation!"

"Better, then, that they don't know," Ganondorf Dragmire said, unflinching. "There are older, more arcane ways of traveling from place to place. Ones that are not submitted to the ever-watchful eye of anti-aircraft fire."

"You want me to walk?" Nabooru blurted, trying to control her shock and indignation. It was unreasonable to show pettiness in front of the Admiral now, even a little reckless, but he suggested something that made no sense.

Dragmire's stare was cool at best, and then he chuckled, the sound deep and ominous and far from contagious. "You are amusing, captain, but no. I cannot spare the time." He reached for a map, which he unfolded before her eyes. "If I had time, I'd tell you to simply cut your way through by force, but it would apparently take you several years and my patience grows thin."

Nabooru felt the humiliation well up again. To think her crew and Dark had congratulated her for her deeds. It was embarrassing. Her eyes swept over the map, where she recognized the Hylian Alliance as it had once been, full and glorious, but the land was watermarked and near transparent. Only a few key cities were fully visible. Over the watermark, thick black lines had been drawn, connecting each landmark in shaky, jagged strokes, like little paths, broadening boldly in places and almost vanishing in others.

"What…"

"Aeons ago," Ganondorf Dragmire said, cutting off her question, "our ancestors placed cities on special places, ones that had been marked. Truth was, they'd chosen entrances to a large, still partially unexplored set of caves; long, winding and treacherous they were, but underground winds blew from city to city, telling tales of far-off places. With the coming of technology, most dwellers of the Light disregarded the underworld, thinking it archaic and unreliable. But those caves are ancient, and they still exist."

Realisation dawned on Nabooru. "You would have me go through the caves."

"Horon City is apparently directly connected to Termina's ghost town of Ikana," the Admiral continued. "And that is where our ally will meet you, inside the old palace, with the weapon I need. Will you be ready to depart tomorrow morning?"

Nabooru wanted to say 'no'. She wanted to say that she could not accomplish what he asked of her, but, memory of his reprimand still fresh in her mind, she asked, "How will I reach New Kasuto with the... cargo?"

"You'll go through the mountains north of Termina, between Hyrule and Minish, and into Calatia. During that season few people travel for fear of high altitude storms."

The full brunt of the assignment started to weigh down on her when, finally, Ganondorf Dragmire said, in what she assumed was his 'benevolent' tone, "For your efforts and with your success, you will be officially promoted to the rank of Air Commander. I am quite busy with my roles as Admiral, and handling the Air Force on top of it all is more than I need. I would hand down the responsibility. Fail, however, and you will be hunted until the day you die."

Nabooru shivered, hoping that she did not, in fact, feel fear.

He rolled the map and handed it to her. "You will go alone. The sooner you leave, the better."

Nabooru considered the mission. It wasn't that she was afraid, she rationalized, but rather that she knew how terribly dangerous and difficult the upcoming trials would be. It all made her nervous.

But then, one did not turn down missions directly given by the Admiral. This was obviously a test of her will and skill, of her devotion to the cause.

She took the map.


	14. 1-14 - The Mechanics

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 14: THE MECHANICS  
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><p><em>22<em>_nd__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Sky City Celestia<br>Platform A-5 hangar_

The Flit was in terrible condition. Even Sheik, who didn't make a habit of fussing over details, had to admit that it was so banged-up that if it ever flew again, it would be an airborne wreck. Most of the pieces from below the nose and cockpit, where it had suffered the most on impact, had needed full replacement or readjustment. It had been three days' work and, he had to admit, it would have taken twice that time if he'd been alone doing the repairs.

"I need a wrench," Sheik gruffly said, sliding out from under the large aircraft. "Do you―"

Malon was already closing the starboard side-panel firmly, dark streaks of engine grease staining her gloves. She peeled them off and frowned when she got a little bit of black oil on her fingertips. Then, shooting him a sweet look, she handed him a selection of tools.

"Which size?" Her tone was so obviously teasing that the young sergeant shot her a mild glare.

The woman worked fast, damn it.

Malon Ranch was talented. She'd actually scoffed at the Hylian Alliance's antiquated ―her words, not his― airships. A lot of the pieces necessary for the Flit were no longer being produced in the City, to her exasperation, and they'd spent quite a few hours tinkering new levers and pistons from scraps and later models.

Amidst amused or teasing comments, Malon had shown a reliability and knowledge that had spared him countless nights of work. She had a large storage hangar full of spare pieces and lived in a sort of organized disarray that both annoyed and impressed him. Though her disorderliness seemed out of control, she could find any single piece within minutes.

They had worked out an unspoken schedule; they'd work from early morning to late afternoon, together in silence, avoiding friction as often as possible for both their sakes, each on their respective sides, and she'd work with him until the time where she eclipsed herself to check up on the princess of Hyrule, who was still weak and therefore slept almost all the time, and returned after an hour with food; a blessing, since he was prone to get so absorbed by work that he'd forget to eat.

He replied to her smug sweetness with a frosty stare and wordlessly took one of the wrenches from her hand. She sniffed amusedly, and he commented, "You have grease on your face."

She blinked; her smug smile melted. She glared and before he could react, she had dragged two oily fingers across his face, tracing dark marks in their wake.

She brought her pretty face, framed by red curls that had gotten out of her ponytail, close to his and murmured, with a sweet smile, "So do you."

He found nothing to say that sounded witty enough, and so he grunted, "Huh."

She laughed and stood again, then checked the clock hanging on the far wall. "Eight after noon."

Here came Sheik's secret favourite moment of the day. With the few fingers that were clean, Malon reached up and pulled at the hair band that kept her long red hair captive, letting it tumble down over her shoulders with a satisfied grin. Brushing it summarily with a few fingers, she turned back to him and he pretended to be absorbed by the piston in his hand.

"I'll be back later, alright?" She told him.

He grunted, wiping at his marred face with a thick sleeve.

On the way out, she almost got knocked over by Kidd and Wulf ―the two had grown surprisingly inseparable of late as Kidd had found Wulf an extremely welcome distraction from his boredom.

Kidd stumbled over Wulf's large body and laughed. They liked to play on the landing platforms; the open flat pads were ideal for games of fetch, provided Kidd was careful not to send objects flying off the platform itself.

Malon had assured them they didn't risk impeding air circulation, since the lower landing pads were no longer used, replaced by the larger, better equipped upper landings, the ones above the city.

They stayed below the large machinery of Celestia, where it was safer, out of reach, and less suspicious. Malon had trained Colin to fill in for her air traffic job, and Link had volunteered to help out with her medical services. All leading military positions required basic medical knowledge. He had swapped his pilot uniform for that of a health assistant, keeping an exclusive eye on the princess' state.

Shad, after his talk with his father, had returned with authorization to help his friend, but hadn't discussed what he'd promised his father in return, if anything. He wasn't openly depressed. For all the others could tell, Shad didn't seem to think any of his business worth mentioning, so they didn't press the matter. Curiosity did eat at them, though, if they caught him staring emptily up at the massive floating city hovercrafts above them, his face drawn with a shadow of doubt.

The City was home to engineers and technicians of all kinds, armed with its own independent guard force and aerial controllers, as well as home to the sky folk, the Oocca, which both fascinated and alienated visitors. The large, unlikely mass of metal and rock floated above the southern Hyrulian plains, where the Guardian and Hylian alliances tended to face off, but held no real allegiance to anyone.

Lord Thaddeus Knowing, the Chief Engineer and master of the Sky City, aligned himself with nothing, allowed only a select few rich civilians on his splendid city, and generally enjoyed the quietude of being literally above political trouble.

All of this was an even better reason for him to never find out Shad's friend, the one who had needed medical help, was in fact the princess of the country over which he so detachedly hovered.

Link was glad to see Colin return from the tower looking famished. He too was hungry from calculating doses of intravenous food and medication, but mostly from the waiting. Malon had taught him the basics and left him to his own devices. Clearly she preferred fixing machines to fixing people, because he didn't feel entirely confident. How, though, could he back down when he felt they were actually progressing? Zelda's fever had passed and her sleep was peaceful.

She slept like she hadn't gotten sleep in years. Shad had cryptically said that, in a way, she hadn't.

And when she slept, a tiny rested smile curled the corner of her lips, making his heart swell with confidence and protectiveness. Here at least he understood Shad's desperate need to guard her safety: so she'd smile again.

Colin absently ran his gaze over the princess' face, inquiring "No improvements?"

Bored, Link replied, "Oh, actually she woke up and we danced a quick one, after which she declared herself tired and went back to sleep."

Colin fixed his captain with an amused look and asked, showing the well-known but rarely experienced Blade family wit, "You probably stepped on her feet hard enough to make her comatose again."

Link scowled and, rather than answer his navigator, handed him a few rupees to pay for their food. Colin took the money wordlessly, shooting his captain a small, friendly smile. He enjoyed going up to the shops above the city to buy exotic foods from the south and west, though he could afford very little of it.

As Colin walked out, Malon came in. She shot Link a feminine smile, one he took to be mildly flirtatious, and he replied with a nod and a tight-lipped smile. Tensely, something inside him screamed it wasn't right to find a sleeping princess' smile more attractive than a beautiful awake woman's…

But there was the crux of his anguish. He found the princess' face hypnotizing, from the way her lashes drew individual shadows on her cheekbones, the way the blood flowed in her neck, making it pulse, the way her pink lips looked ripe and delicious, and he knew pertinently that he would be sorely disappointed if she awoke and he was denied the right to gaze at her so shamelessly again.

"How is she?" The redhead mechanic asked, sitting across from him, putting now-clean fingers to the princess' neck, measuring her heartbeat calmly. "She looks peaceful, doesn't she?"

Link nodded. "Hard to tell, but overall I think she's fine."

"Has she eaten?"

Link didn't argue that she was in no state to actually _eat_, understanding her oddly worded inquiry. "An hour ago." He eyed the intravenous feed and recalled, "Gave her dosage number 3."

She nodded. "Good." Her eyes took in the sight of the sleeping princess. Wonderingly, she said, "She doesn't look royal." She laughed a little, self-deprecating. "I thought… She's like a normal woman."

Link's face screwed into an amused smile. "What did you expect? A leprechaun?"

Malon shot him a sarcastic look, standing again. "I'll be right back. Has Colin gone for food already?"

"If you run, you might catch up with him," Link said. She nodded.

"I'll take Kidd and Wulf for the walk. They need to change sceneries, poor them. A street boy and a wild dog. A little crazy taking them along, _ja fiane pinsto_?"

Malon, and, it seemed, many of the Sky City's inhabitants, spoke blurbs of Old Hylian, the gist of which Link just barely got. The Oocca had rubbed off on them.

Link shrugged. Malon knew as much as he did, which meant very little. In a sense, she was much like he and Sheik, ready to help without knowing all the details.

She waved a little as she walked back out and before he knew it, Link was left alone with the princess again. He had spent a lot of hours on this chair, pondering the impending inevitable change in his fate. As soon as she came to, he would be at her every beck and call; ready to take her wherever she pleased…

The prospect was destabilizing for one who was accustomed to freedom or military orderliness. Here lay a civilian with such rank that he could not deny her.

How would it all play out? What had she tried to do by escaping the guard of her own people? What would he have his crew do? Why had Shad insisted she would tell them in due time?

She stirred. Her breath changed paces, speeding up only a little. Her eyelids fluttered, but did not open. He found himself anxiously holding his breath. She often stirred like this, and in the few moments where her eyes fluttered, he thought she was awake.

Her brow furrowed, lips pressing together a little.

Her hand moved.

She was waking up.

He felt torn between anticipation and reticence. She did this a lot, but now he saw more strength, more resolve.

A small sound came when she breathed in sharply, like vocal chords working in reverse, like her body was trying to fine-tune her before she was fully conscious, like a musical instrument that was out of practice. He sat on the edge of his seat, ready to dart and call Malon back, unable to decide what was best. He was afraid to share the princess' awakening after waiting so long, yet afraid to be alone and helpless. He was no doctor; he'd learned the basics of tending to a comatose person with Malon, but could not handle it on his own.

So he waited, tense.

Princess Zelda's eyes cracked open, weakly, and he dimmed the lights to make the contrast less harsh on her now unpractised eyes. She had opened her eyes, but he didn't dare speak, waiting for her first move.

She blinked, slowly, obviously not trying to make sense of anything, merely getting a feel for her surroundings, which were most unfamiliar.

After a minute of what seemed to Link like the longest time in the world, something inside her clicked. Rather than stare at the ceiling, her eyes widened a bit, blue gaze jumping from unfamiliar side to unfamiliar side, trying to capture her location, and he could practically hear her mind going into overdrive, her panic visible in the way she tensed. The intravenous feed recoiled a little in its transparent tube, held back by the sudden stress of her muscles.

Before terror could get a hold of her, Link softly, tensely asked, "Zelda?"

She suddenly stopped moving, and a glance at the silent cardiograph indicated she had been temporarily stunned by the sound of her given name. Link, meanwhile, berated himself for not using her formal title. If she noticed, he was going to suffer her indignation, for sure.

But she didn't seem to mind, or even have noticed. Rather than risk more fear on her part, he continued with, "Please, don't move. You're alright and no one here will harm you."

With a sharp, very aware glance, she looked at him.

It was like something inside him clicked into place; something he had never known was out of sync, something he had never suspected just snapped, like an elastic allowed to return to its original length with something like pure relief. It was a soft, almost imperceptible feeling, something he wouldn't have noticed if it hadn't been so unusual, like a soft comfort was bathing him in a distant glow, making his nape tingle headily.

Her gaze was so intent, so ready, so brightly intelligent he felt short of breath.

Mouth dry, he almost croaked, "We found you in a Flit carcass in the fields of Hyrule. You've been unconscious for a few days now. We carried you―"

He stopped suddenly; her mouth had opened and she was trying to form syllables, but she was so weak and her throat had been out of service for so long that no sound managed to come out. She looked extremely frustrated by her open weakness, and before she could sit up and look fully upset, he motioned to her to stay put.

"Please, don't push yourself. You're going to feel weak. You are in the Sky City Celestia at the moment. Your friend, Shad," he disliked mentioning the aristocrat, a deep sense of possession haunting the vague part of him that was still recoiling from their first exchange of looks, "has convinced his father to let you benefit from their medical support in all anonymity."

She furrowed a brow, many pieces of information still missing. Link felt frustrated with himself, wondering where to start for her to understand everything, and wondering if he ought to bombard her to begin with.

To buy time, he offered, "Would you like to drink something?"

She looked surprised, like the idea had never occurred to her, but eventually nodded. Her pale face looked tired, mistreated, and he wanted to bring her whichever comfort was available.

He slowly reached out, gently helping her up, knowing that in any other context, a title-less man was not allowed to touch the monarch. Something like smugness filled him, replaced immediately by concern. She paused for a moment, looking a little dizzy, and emitted a low groan.

When he handed her the glass of water, watching for signs of coordination, her motor skills comforted him. Her hand was weak, but it didn't shake. Even she seemed to know that pushing herself would be a bad idea. She drank slowly, trying to keep from vomiting. Her stomach was so empty that it had started to hurt, and the water hitting it suddenly was both relief and agony.

Finally, she brought the glass down from her lips ―he hurried to take it from her hands― and fixed him with a grateful but guarded look. Once again, she opened her lips to speak, and this time sound came through.

"… Who… 're you?" The sound was a little fuddled, her facial muscles in need of practice to help her articulate properly again.

This took him short. He shifted on the edge of his seat, wondering where to start, wondering if he'd have time to say everything before she drew the wrong conclusions.

"My name is Link Forester," he started, slowly, trying to match her direct gaze comfortably and finding the exercise difficult. "I am a captain of the Hylian Alliance."

At this, she tensed, eyes darting around the room and muscles twitching weakly, as if to gather all her forces and run. He reached out, ready to steady her, but realised she regarded him with extreme suspicion.

Quickly, he hastened to add, voice faster than anything he'd ever said before, desperate for her to revoke her mistrust, "We saw you crash in the fields that night. We wouldn't have helped―" Wrong. "I mean, your friend Shad begged us to help, and we thought we'd―"

"This…" she hoarsely started, and he patiently waited for her voice's strength to aid her, "…place…" Frustration flashed in her eyes, but she couldn't find the strength to express it.

"We're not in Castleton anymore," he explained, anticipating her inquiry, and repeated, "We're in Celestia; you're entered in the medical records anonymously thanks to Shad Knowing. No one but a select few know your identity and location, and you can trust us."

Though she was still a little suspicious, she seemed comforted by the name of her aristocrat friend. She asked, "Where…'s Shad?"

Somehow, for no fathomable reason, Link had dreaded this question. He'd wanted her all to himself, having guarded her for so long. He'd taken to calling her Zelda in his mind, as sleep made all men and women equal, as rank vanished like living dreams, she had become to him the idyllic symbol of time itself, ageless and beautiful. A companion of every moment, one he did not want to share.

But she was not Zelda, goddess of time. She was princess Zelda, empress-to-be, regnant monarch of a country at war, with her cheeks sallow and sunken, and he was a captain so low in rank that she would not know his name in return.

"He went to buy some things in the city above," he said.

"City above?" She asked, and her voice was warming with use, though still a little croaky.

With a grin, Link stood from his chair, and reached a switch panel on the wall. Turning back to her with an explanatory smile, he suggested, "Mind your eyes."

With a flick of the switch, the roof over them rolled back, panel by panel, retracting to reveal a windowed dome, one that showed a bright expanse of pink sky and the hovercrafts of the Sky City. With the movement of the roof, a large flock of white birds was dislodged and flew away in a loud flap of wings, filling the sky above Platform A with darts of white feathers.

The princess watched all this with a mix of awe and fear. Link hurried to return to her side, to stand and look up as well, to observe the beauty of the sky.

With a dizzy lurch, the princess averted her eyes and turned to the bedside, shutting her eyes tight, her breathing quickening.

"We're in the lower platforms," Link explained, uncertain. "Shad should be back in less than an hour. In the meantime, I'm to ensure you don't relapse."

She looked up at him, looking green, and shook her head wordlessly. Then, her body heaved, a thin slick of bile and saliva drooling to the tiles next to the bed.

Hastily, Link leaped to give her a pail.

"Urgh…" she moaned as she took the pail with weak hands, looking pale. "Sorry…" And then she was heaving again, her empty stomach giving her little to regurgitate.

"No, it's alright," Link said, kicking himself mentally. "I'm sorry, I should have known the shock of the light and the sights― Skies, I'm really― Here."

With a smooth movement, he sat next to her on the bed, and pressed a cool cloth to her sweating forehead. The relief was instantaneous and obvious. She turned a grateful eye on him. He shot her a look that was both sheepish and honest, and truly embarrassed. "Is there anything I can do for you until our resident medic returns from her errands?"

Zelda looked pensive. Not Zelda, he reminded himself. The princess. Her eyes, blue like a glass doll's, with indescribable depth, stared at the walls as she familiarized herself with her surroundings, then slowly returned to anchor themselves in his.

"Water…"

Link smiled, and offered her the glass of water again. This time, her grasp was more confident. She drank carefully and long, and it almost seemed like she was filling with life with every mouthful.

At last, she finished the glass and handed it back to him.

"… Why…" She asked and her voice was still slow but no longer hoarse, "di'n't you bring me back… to Castleton?" There was no indignation in her voice, just genuine curiosity; like it was a piece of the puzzle she couldn't quite place.

Why, indeed? Link struggled to find the words. None of his personal answers seemed to strike him as particularly intelligent.

"Well, Shad pointed out that after you went to so much trouble to get away from Castleton," he said, and he noticed her gaze fall away from his and examine the threads of the blanket that covered her, "we couldn't very well return you without your express consent."

"Shad…" she said, and Link was taken aback by the strange and sad confidence with which she said the name of her friend. "He would've consider'd it, 'f course."

Aware that she was mostly talking to herself, Link tried hard not to feel a pang of envy shoot through him. That he'd feel jealousy over the aristocrat being so familiar to the woman was without foundation and irrational enough, even for him. All the more alarming was his tendency to analyse what went through him in her presence ―he hardly ever did.

"Well," Zelda said, this time with some strength, drawing a long breath, as if coming to terms with her current situation, or perhaps as if trying to gather her courage, "_la Lusce alne soda u yuni_." For the first time, the sluggish pronunciation was gone, leaving her with a more regal tone, her syllables clear.

This bit of Old Hylian, at least, every faithful knew.

"'The Light never is too early'?" Link repeated, interested and perplexed, a flicker of recognition igniting within the forgotten recesses of his mind. "… The book of Mudora?"

She nodded, pleased. "Yes." Her face stretched into a yawn that almost looked painful. "Tired." She rubbed yawning tears out of her eyes. Slightly at a loss, she eyed him. "Will you tell Shad I've woken up?"

"I will," he promised, unable to keep his tone from sounding reverent. He tucked her back into the blankets, checked the IV, and sat back on his chair to watch the princess of Hyrule drift asleep.

"I always thought…" she murmured, "… that the Light was wisdom." She smiled weakly at him, revealing a row of small white teeth, and in the slanted rays of pink light, her pale and sickly face was transformed, and he could see why she was said to be so beautiful. He wasn't sure which of the two of them was more surprised by the genuine motion, him or her.

She looked away at the pink sky through the skylight, smiling serenely.

"I have vague plans…" She closed her eyes. "I need to speak with Shad."

Link, who had until then been eager to keep her smiling, fell back in his chair, deflated. "Shad. Yes."

She opened her eyes and shot him a weak smile, but found nothing to add. A long silence stretched between them, and Link thought she had gone back to sleep.

"… Have you… been waiting for me to wake up all this time?" Her heavy eyelids were only slightly opened, and sleep was swiftly taking her.

Link looked up, unsure. "Well… yes, and we also needed to repair our Flit." At her polite, inquiring look, he added, "We suffered, ah, somewhat of an emergency landing when we brought you here. Your doctor is also a City mechanic. Her name is Malon. She has been seeing to your well being _and_ providing us with spare parts. I'll admit, though, that as things stand, I'm afraid our Flit will never fly as it once did."

The princess nodded, and he tried to restrain his obvious dismay. He had confessed to her something he hadn't even told Sheik or Colin. The Flit was in a terrible condition, and though his sergeant and Malon were putting a great amount of time into fixing it, he feared it would never be back to its prime, much less in such a short delay.

As such, their means of travel was, aside from the monarch's health, one of the things weighing heavily on Link's mind. That he would confide in a princess ―who very clearly knew little to nothing about Flits, if her crash was any indication, and had just woken up from a mild coma, at that― was downright pathetic, and he felt ashamed just to talk about it.

But then, how could he _not_ answer her with honesty? Her eyes ―blue, gentle and penetrating― gave him no choice in the matter.

They fell silent again, this time because he was without words, and because she was growing weak with exhaustion. He had opened his mouth to say something, but then one look at her face made him forget what he was going to say. The pink sundown cast her face in soft hues, and she did not look so unhealthy and pale anymore. On the contrary, she was the very picture he saw in art books, the kind great artists claimed were their muse. Even her inquiring gaze, which had been ever so polite and poised, royal down to the curl of her dark lashes, had made him uneasy. And her blonde hair, matted and dishevelled, lay in tendrils on the pillow and over her slim shoulders.

She was, Link had to conclude, bewitching. No wonder they'd kept her crowned.

Although now that Hyrule was at war with the Guardian Coalition, it was obvious there was at least one person who did not want her sitting on the throne: Ganondorf Dragmire. That was a little disturbing, to say the least. Guardians of the Future they might have called themselves, but they certainly didn't seem to know what was best for them. It was hard to think Princess Zelda might be anything but good, kind and fair, or anything less than worthy of a sceptre, when looking at her as she lay in a creaking hospital bed Link could swear he had never met a more beautiful woman in his whole life.

Bewitching. That had to be it. She was versed in the old languages ―far more than his basic education― and weren't there rumours about Magic still existing? Precisely: it was all a charm, an act. He did not usually feel so lyrical about women.

"Will you," she asked in a murmur, suddenly saving him the embarrassment of blubbering like an idiot ―how considerate― "stay here with me?" She frowned a little at his bewildered expression. The quirky motion moved him and he felt somehow self-congratulatory, for no fathomable reason.

"I promise."

Zelda ―damn it, he'd never be able to correct his dimwitted habit― relaxed, patient and gentle, a little confused about his warm and candid reply, her eyes drifting closed.

It was good to know, Link considered as he shot her sleeping face a long, unburdened, lingering look that lasted until the pink light faded into evening blue, that if he was going to be smitten with anyone, at least he could be confident that he aimed high enough.


	15. 1-15 - The Caver

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 15: THE CAVER**

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><p><em>22<em>_nd__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, Horon City<br>Underground, entrance of the Whispering Caves_

The Whispering Caves were a thing of legends. A long time ago, rumours and bedside tales had distorted facts into stories of horror and wonder. Nabooru had not, ever, expected that the well-renowned Horon caves were in truth the entrance to the subterranean world, had never thought she would see it, and had especially never thought she would have to engulf herself into their black, echoing abyss.

Yet there she had been.

The Caves were dark, lit at their mouth only by a few old ―dare she say _ancient_― lanterns. It was too far down the mines, shafts and tunnels to properly feed the place with current. Nabooru had not expected such a large entrance, though. Carefully bringing a self-powered Flit down the shafts had not been easy, but it had been a revealing discovery to turn the bright Flit projectors into the hole. They had revealed a huge underground cave, its frightening stalactites dripping with water. Even with such a powerful light source, many pockets of shadow and void had been left obscured.

Such scale couldn't possibly occur naturally, could it?

It was true. The caves were constantly whispering. Something far, far away within their dark bowels hissed, echoed, dripped, rose and fell like the distant murmurs of garbled voices. It was eerie, and Nabooru felt something crawl up her spine at the very thought that the caves were not empty of life.

Her guide, a small Twili from the north, had looked upset at the very idea of being near the Caves' mouth, and had retreated as soon as possible. Even commands from Ganondorf Dragmire himself could not convince the crooks, crime lords and bandits city to stay in this jagged underworld.

Nabooru had felt something like spite towards the admiral, then. Surely she had not deserved this. Surely this was not the best way for her to show her loyalty.

The task was more of a test than a sensible mission, and she had thought herself beyond testing by now.

She'd tuned her Flit's radio to see if she could catch the outside waves. No result. She'd left a hanging message for Dark before heading down, telling him of her mission, asking him about his, wondering if their separate tasks were connected in some way by Ganondorf Dragmire's will. But Dark was on the move, and he would not have access to her message before logging into his military account.

Food and high-grade fuel were packed tightly in the back of her craft, enough to survive a good two weeks. Over land her flight would last less than twenty-four hours. She'd appreciated the motion, but it showed such little optimism that, in truth, she would have preferred to have less food and more courage.

Seeing, however, that she had no courage now, the food was welcome to make up for it.

She wondered if the Caves were wide enough throughout to permit her Flit passage. If they didn't, what would she do? She had a sonar, but it wasn't nearly enough to settle her nerves. Ganondorf Dragmire had assured her she would find her way, but Nabooru had her doubts. She had taken a day off before the descent to research previous incursions into the Caves. The explorers intrepid enough to attempt the venture over the centuries had been few and far between, and missing for decades.

The conclusion drawn from this was evident. One did not enter the Whispering Caves and come out alive. Nabooru could not take this lightly. The Admiral had sent her to her death, without a doubt.

Why?

What did the Caves hold? Even sonar-mapped plans were sketchy, uncertain, and reputably unreliable. If the Caves held creatures of the dark, she would not know until she encountered them.

At the very least, she considered, Dragmire could have equipped her with a team of people. She ached to have the comforting presence of another soul, someone to fill her mind the gloom. She was beginning to miss Dark ―and his morbid or twisted jokes― quite dearly. She wanted to escape the unappealing Caves, pretend she had died, go back to Gerudo and reopen her spices and incense store, like she'd always promised herself she would.

But nonsense. How did tastes and smells and simple pleasures measure in comparison with guarding the future prosperity of the world? She shook her desire off. She was no coward. This was wartime. The Admiral needed her help. He wouldn't have sent one of his captains in without reason. She had no other choice.

"Ganondorf Dragmire," she'd grumbled as she'd flicked the engines to life, "I don't know what loyalty binds me to this."

The Flit's hovercrafts had filled the dark void ahead with engine noise. She feared that the loud hum might awaken a creature of the underworld, some monstrosity that feasted on the poor living things that mistakenly ventured here.

But she would not cower.

The Flit had lifted off and slowly hovered towards the Caves' unknown recesses. She'd taken a deep breath, and then, too soon, there had been darkness and the sound of distant voices, whispers of distorted truths, murmurs of outlandish news, indecipherable and mysterious, echoing from the distant ages.

The sounds of her Flit echoed off the cave walls, reverberating around her fifty times increased, horrible and so unnatural that she scared herself. She loved flying, loved Flits, loved airships of all kinds, but here, in the place where flying crafts did not belong, she felt it down to her bones, felt it creep into her like insidious poison, like the Whispering Caves were murmuring to her that her freak machinery was meant for the skies, not the deeps.

She'd flicked the overhead lights on and focused on the powerful beams of light projected ahead of her. She forced herself to smile. There, now. This wasn't so bad, was it?

Around her, terrible columns of stone and dripping water obstructed her sonar like immense teeth and brutal claws. She was afraid the underworld was as unforgiving as the war that raged above, but so silent, so much deadlier. It was unlikely that, should she die, anyone would notice, or even grant her post-mortem medals.

Despicable. Three days of it.

She moved deliberately slowly, hoping against hope that this would give her enough time to assess her surroundings and find her way better. The map she'd uploaded to the Flit's navigation computer was old, jagged, approximate and incomplete.

Something in the two beams of light flickered, like something had moved in the shadows and caused a stir so quick that she was not sure whether it was a trick of her mind. When after careful observation for a good fifteen minutes nothing else turned up, she allowed herself to calm down.

Around her, the Caves were always shifting, changing their inside anatomy from immense grotto to the next, in some layered and full of flat surfaces, in which she felt like she was moving between two flat pages of a book, in others full of water lakes and stalagmites. She lost track of time. The shadows terrified her; she could admit it. She disliked being here alone, in these caverns that had aged without any visitors for so long.

It seemed too easy, almost.

For the umpteenth time, she checked the map, trying to figure out where she was in the sprawling underground maze. If she had not lost her way or engaged herself in the wrong tunnels, she was apparently somewhere below the south-western reaches of Hyrule. Often she passed caverns where rivers and waterfalls all headed south, towards the Waker Ocean. She wondered if, further down, the Ocean receded into the Caves themselves and blocked the way.

She preferred not to imagine what that would imply for her.

And so she pretended all was right, and ignored the sense of foreboding that came whenever she moved too quickly and dark forms and shadows seemed to dart here and there, in the corner of her eyes.

Something about these Caves had bothered her since the offset, and she would almost have preferred to know what it was that weighed over her rather than move in the shadows aimlessly.

There was a loud thump and the Flit tilted heavily to the left, throwing Nabooru out of her seat with a weak cry. She caught herself by grabbing the dashboard and hypotheses scrolled through her head in a panic.

Had she hit a stalactite? But her sonar had shown nothing. There was, effectively, nothing there to show for a rock formation.

A bat? Surely she was too far away from the Caves' entrance to justify that they would be here― they were creatures of grottos, but they needed food from the outside. Here she was so far away from everything…

So far away from everything…

Another loud thump sent the Flit careening a few meters to the right. This time, she was certain there had been nothing on the screen.

What was going on? She scrutinized the dark outside her Flit, watching the too-weak beams of light as they showed nothing unusual. But what was it that stirred outside their range? She was afraid to find out.

Still, she shone one of the projectors on the shadows.

And allowed herself to scream.


	16. 1-16 - The Interloper

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 16: THE INTERLOPER**

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><p><em>19<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, Samasa<br>Streets_

Midna walked briskly. She was certain that every liar, thief and counterfeiter on the streets of Samasa could see her true nature. Their eyes burned like Fire against the curtain of Shadow she carried within.

She supposed she could afford a small measure of guilt. It had been perhaps cruel to do what she'd done. Dark Knight had been oddly understanding at suppertime, and though she had felt weak to explain her predicament, he hadn't offered her any of his wretched pity.

No pity from Dark Knight, only comprehension.

For the first time in a long time, Midna Black, ruler of Twilight, had met someone who did not think less of her for her actions. She had spent most of her time hiding what she thought, if only because showing grief and loneliness made her all the more vulnerable to her Artificial Design. Only one thing kept her sane, and it was frowned upon to practice it, and anyway, officially, non-existant.

The Shadow and Fire Magics curled around her heart protectively, squeezing it. The Twili were among the last to possess any active Magic, and it was a weak sort, diluted by time. All creatures had some form of it, but none seemed able to make any use of it. Most, like Dark, seemed unaware they even had any at all.

Midna would have studied the pool of Water dormant inside him, but that would have been invasive prying, and she preferred to keep her cards close to her heart.

So it was with a mix of pain and guilt that she'd walked out on him after barring his hotel door. Pain because she was certain she'd walk alone and disliked for the rest of her life, and guilt because as punishment for his understanding comments, she'd left him locked inside his room until morning, when it would be too late for him to find her. She could feel his disappointment and shock already. And the anger, too.

She was familiar with anger.

Guilt, also, because she was sure he'd have followed her, had she asked it of him. Now he would feel nothing but bewilderment followed by horrified understanding and accusation.

She had betrayed him, and all of the Guardian Coalition. She couldn't forget her priorities.

Their talk had made her realise that there was no dilemma. Her throne _was_ lost, and so she would take everything she could down with her.

But not him. As interesting and insightful as Dark Knight had revealed himself to be, she couldn't afford the distraction, and perhaps he would be spared.

He'd said he bore no allegiances. She couldn't afford to believe him.

So here she was, and there was no going back. She had little time to spare. She had to do her duty, not as the Twilight princess, but as a Twili woman who did not want to see her people make the mistake of vanishing from the life of Hyrulians again.

Night in Samasa was threatening, all long shadows and peering eyes. Oddly, she hadn't really noticed anything to rattle her; it reminded her of Nightfall, the hometown she loved.

Yes, she'd done the right thing in choosing nation over man. How did he compare to her people's safety? The two weren't even on the same scale. No doubt about it, she had done the right thing in locking him up then running like an army was on her tail. Soon that'd be true enough anyway, so why delay any further?

And besides, all the more fool he, allowing a near stranger access to his vehicle. He was such a slave for women she almost felt bad for him.

The fact that he was a distraction the likes of which she'd rarely encountered only gave her further reason to leave him behind. He was unnaturally gifted at upsetting her and asking the right questions, and combined the two effects flawlessly well. She could not afford that sort of thing.

Although… He had looked strikingly good without clothes on, in that bed of his.

She gritted her teeth and ignored the pleasant memory. What was she turning into?

She needed to get back to the hangar and keep Ingo the mechanic from stopping her escape with the Sol.

Dark Knight didn't seem to know what it was they were transporting, and she'd meant to keep it that way. If he had, he wouldn't have been quite as eager to share. A Sol was so priceless that she was stunned her people had found a way to spare one. No doubt her Artificial Design had tripped over himself to offer it up. Or maybe Ganondorf Dragmire paid a considerable sum to obtain it. Her people must have sacrificed something crucial. From what she knew of the possible uses of such powerful energy cores, Dragmire's designs could not be considered optimistically.

It was unlikely after all that he aimed to simply use them to light his living room. He probably wanted to power something big. Something so all-consuming that a Sol was the only thing that would do.

Sols were rare. They had once been more widespread, but they were either spent or shattered now. Midna only knew of two Sols in active use: the first was in Nightfall, powering the city core. The second was a traveling power source, used by the wired Twili fleet. It flew over the newly conquered Guardian territories, gathering resources and valuable assets ―talent, knowledge, slaves― for use by the army of Dragmire.

The fleet was powered by the Sol kept on the main airship, the Interloper.

If they no longer had the Sol, that meant they were living on alternate fuel, and some of the fleet's essential services were no longer in function. They would suffer from it.

Midna made a point to prevent dictators from hurting her people. Now that she had access to Dragmire's tools, she'd ensure he'd be set back another few months at least.

Pity that her only obstacle had been so handsome, with that tanned, gorgeous body spread on the thin coverlets. He'd probably simmer with rage, those lean muscles coiled with unspent energy. She tried to keep her mind from exploring the ridges of his stomach, to little avail.

A low point in her stomach whined piteously. Were this any other time, she _would_ have indulged herself, and there was no point denying it.

Oh, damn it all. She pushed herself to go faster down the streets. She couldn't let herself be distracted, much less ―gods forbid!― soften up. She berated herself again: what value did a boy-toy have when measured against the deaths of thousand of people?

She'd find someone else when the world was stable again. If she still lived.

The hangar was at the far end of a darkened courtyard. The street was deserted. She was shocked that the nightlife was almost nonexistent here. Perhaps there weren't enough distractions in the vicinity? Either way, it served her better. With little light and no witnesses, she could get away with, well, anything. Like murder.

Not, she reminded herself, that this would be necessary. Threats worked too, and she was fairly confident Ingo intended to hang on to his balls.

She slipped inside the open hangar and immediately located the large Flit. It was a high-class engine, nothing like the lightweight crafts used in warfare. This one was heavier, more of a carrier than a weapon. She had never flown one of those, but she'd probably figure it out. If that handsome oaf had managed it, she could probably also pull it off. She had, after all, proven herself smarter than him.

A quick check through the window revealed little in the dark, but nothing looked tampered with. So Ingo had been trustworthy for real, just as Dark Knight had promised. Things were looking up.

So why did she feel a pang?

She took out the Flit ID card and tried to gather her wits. No matter that she'd filched it out of his trouser pocket earlier tonight, before bolting the door. It was the _right thing to do_. Who needed that smug, sexy bastard anyway?

She slid the door open and let her eyes adjust to the darkness inside the Flit. A beam of moonlight mixed with flashing neon and artificial city lights shone from outside the hanger, through the cockpit window, weakly illuminating the area. She turned to glance at the crate.

Sol were rare minerals, almost exclusively procurable in the barren flatlands of Twilight. They emitted a sort of soft, warm energy that made the white stone phosphorescent and provided enough massed power to power the Nightfall citadel. Its partial regenerative capacities made it the ultimate battery.

Absently, she felt something didn't seem right. A closer look revealed something that alarmed her.

The crate, in the dim light, wasn't glowing, its contents apparently missing.

Midna, her heart in her throat, leaped to the back of the Flit and tore the crate open. It came apart so easily she knew what had happened before actually seeing the evidence.

One of the Twilight Sols had been stolen!

Thieves! Bloody Samasan thieves! The Fire inside her burned hot, as though itching to be unleashed.

Cursing in every language she knew ―and she knew quite a few― Midna checked her belongings. Since everything was intact, she quickly concluded that the thieves had either not noticed them, or simply hadn't cared about them.

Dark Knight had said Ingo was trustworthy!

Incomprehension and sharp anger mixed and repeated the same indignant sentence over and over again in her mind. Dark Knight had said…

But Dark Knight could very well have been wrong.

Nostrils flaring, the princess of Twilight took out the small gun she knew Dark kept near his pilot seat, and snapped the safety catch back. Someone was going to pay for this loss.

Striding out of the Flit and across the hangar, towards the small side-house where the owner slept ―it was late indeed― she forced the door open. It wasn't locked. Sands, didn't the man know his own weaknesses?

It didn't take long to locate the Ingo's bedroom. The snores were a dead giveaway. She stalked into the room, loomed over to the bed and aimed the gun at his roaring head. Ingo the mechanic was a hideous man, in his late forties with a sort of hairy, badly-shaven, slightly balding head, a large nose and a splotched complexion. A moment passed during which she debated killing him or sparing him, and during which he emitted sounds vaguely resembling those of a military truck with no muffler.

No, maybe she'd wake him. No point in killing him if he didn't know her reasons.

With a well-landed kick, she watched in satisfaction as he grunted in pain and curled over defensively.

Cocking the gun in his direction, she coldly said, "Ingo, you disappoint me."

Jolted violently awake, the mechanic sat up and, as he suddenly noticed the gun, panicked and exclaimed, "No, please, I dunno what I've done, don't―" He rubbed his eyes and looked positively terrified, his voice muffled by the blanket he'd drawn up to his chin in fear. He blinked and squinted in her direction, trying to make out her traits in the near-complete darkness. "Artificial Design?"

Something cold gripped the Twilight princess like a vice. She struggled to maintain her composure, fought to keep a steady hold on the gun, and calmly asked, "What did you say?"

"What?" Apparently concluding that he was speaking to a woman, Ingo aggressively asked, "What d'you want?"

"Where is the Sol?" She asked again, choosing to cut to the chase in case time was running even shorter. Her hand flew out to grab his collar.

"I don't―" Ingo started, angry, his bushy moustache trembling in fear and anger.

"I asked," she coldly repeated, pressing the gun to the man's throat, "_where is the Sol_? The crate in the Flit is empty! Where are its contents?"

Ingo whimpered. He actually whimpered, his frame cowering into a tinier shape than it ever was. "I dunno!"

She shoved the gun tip hard into his neck and he squeaked, panicked tears running out of his eyes.

"Quit your lying, I'm not a patient person!"

"I swear I dunno," Ingo practically sobbed, a hideous vision of moustachioed complaint, surrendering information as quickly as she expected the coward to. "Some Twili man came in, said he was acquainted with you! He said he would take care of everything! Please, please spare me!" His sobbing was now so pathetic that she refrained from scowling in disgust. He snivelled at her feet, imploring.

Furious, she still retracted her gun and said, "You made the biggest mistake of your life." She nudged the middle-aged mechanic's head up with her gun, "That business with Zant―"

"What about it?"

Midna's blood froze in her veins. That voice. That cool, collected, disgusting, manipulative, contemptuous, despicable, terrifying voice. She'd have recognized it anywhere.

Veering around to stare at the sudden intruder, Midna felt her horrified suspicions be proven true.

"Zant Grim," she said, with feeling.

The Madman ―as she and her diminishing number of supporters referred to Twilight's Artificial Design― was quite possibly the man Midna hated the most these days. He would have been handsome, by Twili standards. Red hair, slicked back and held in place by a tight, bronze-coloured hood, his skin was the strange hue of the northern exiles, a dark tone that looked like a tan but was more of an oddly bluish paleness. His nose was straight, his mouth well defined, his bright orange eyes wide almonds that characterized the elegant males of his race.

Disgusted, Midna pushed back the memories of a time where she'd thought him attractive. He didn't come close to―

Well, to a man like Dark Knight, for instance.

Zant Grim the Mad, she'd named him when he'd rallied supporters in her very own court. He was a usurper of the worst kind, the kind that used her people against her, and who was on his way to rule the kingdom in her stead.

She saw with no small pleasure that the cross-slash she'd cut across his lips as punishment for insolence hadn't fully healed. There were still four little cuts around his mouth that peeled apart whenever he opened his mouth. She hoped it still hurt him a lot.

"Midna Black," Zant calmly smiled. "I hope I'm not interrupting another one of your torture sessions." He shot the shaking, cowering Ingo a condescending look then turned back to her. "I had a feeling I'd find you in some rundown part of a trash city."

She didn't reply, but aimed her gun at the Artificial Design's chest.

He looked amused. "Did you honestly think the Admiral Dragmire would let his Sol go unchecked in your hands while you caper about, dancing to your own swan song? I've been keeping an eye on you and your…" He sneered. "… pilot… Congratulations, by the way. We both seem to agree he's a keeper."

Her hand shook in barely restrained fury, but still, she kept the gun trained on him. Hatefully, she spat, "Where is the Sol?"

Zant Grim's expression turned from a sneer to a smile that would have been perfect on a snake. "It's safe, what with it being an important asset of the Admiral's property. And I am here," he said, his hands falling to his sides, "because we have some unfinished business the Admiral wants me to take care of."

"The Admiral," Midna declared sweetly, "can die, for all I care."

Zant Grim the Mad shot her a cool glare. "I was afraid you'd say that." A gun he'd no doubt hidden in a fold of his cloak appeared in his hand, and she felt her heart leap in panic. Zant was the better shot of the two of them. "Fortunately, I wasn't up for negotiations either."

He lifted the gun.

A tense silence settled over them as Midna tried to swiftly calculate the risks of shooting him when he could have dozens of minions nearby, waiting to swarm her. The Madman seemed to have no such concerns, however, and he aimed and disengaged the security.

Midna's heart leapt in her throat, eyes darting and trying to find an escape. Maybe she could run― maybe she could just shoot him and deal with the consequences― maybe she could―

"It's a shame, killing you now," Zant Grim deplored. "It would have been an honour to do it in broad daylight, like a two-rupee criminal sent to the scaffolds to join all her would-be successors."

Midna's thought pattern stopped as her whole attention focused on the gun and on the Madman's tightening finger as it pulled the trigger.

"Bitch," Zant smiled, unconcerned.

The shot rang out, and Midna braced herself, cringing and crying out. Ingo shouted something. The detonation nearly deafened her.

But no pain came.

She opened her eyes, hesitating to uncoil.

Zant Grim wasn't holding a gun anymore. Instead, he was clutching his hand as it bled profusely, screaming in anguish, teetering on his feet, bent over his shattered hand protectively, orange eyes tearing in physical hurt.

What had happened?

"Asshole."

The word was spoken from the doorway. The voice, as confident, cold and harsh as ever, nevertheless filled her whole being with relief and glee.

Dark Knight, having lowered a clearly-borrowed, still-fuming rifle, stood in the doorframe, his face taut in anger, ruthlessness, his expression nothing like the amused, playful man she'd seen at dinner. She was glad he wasn't aiming the death glare at her.

And then, he turned and pinned it straight on her.

With a cynical sneer, he said, ever-so-lovingly, "Hi, sweetheart, I'm the dick you forgot in the hotel room. Hope you had a plan B for that traitor thing just now, because I'm sorry to inform you that plan A definitely sucks."


	17. 1-17 - The Wanderer

**PART 1: A PUPPET'S FREEDOM**

**CHAPTER 17: THE WANDERER**

* * *

><p><em>23<em>_rd__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, The Whispering Caves,<br>Subrosia_

How could it be? How could the dead be alive? It didn't make sense.

Nabooru had seen horrible things in her life, but somehow the horror and bloodshed of war paled in comparison with what currently filled her windshield. For all that was holy in the sands and skies, none of it made sense. Where her nerves had never failed her before, they seemed now so frazzled and out of control, her heart slamming erratically and poisonous fear running in the her veins, that she wondered what was going on.

Sands! Panic was such a gripping, inexplicable, primitive thing. As her Flit was continuously being slammed from side to side like a toy and horrific visions surrounded her and terrified cries kept tearing irrationally from her throat, Nabooru felt all life-saving thoughts flee from her mind like they'd never existed.

In desperation, she slammed all engines to full blast and tried to escape the almost childish hold of her massive captor… Because it was gripped in the claw of the most fearsome, ugly, repulsive creature she had ever seen. Giant, so big that it dwarfed her and a single hand could contain her airship, so terrible that its spine vanished in the darkness, leaving on its bony upper body to flail and trash. Some of its bones were covered with rotting fur and dried blood, its inner organs falling to pieces.

The most terrible part, though, was its head. Inhuman, hungry, expressionless, long bare fangs revealing in something that was nothing like a smile; dark, empty holes where eyes would have been, and a crazy mane of disintegrating fur around the collar, that head personified the nightmares of a thousand children.

And then it roared. She caught a glimpse of its bloody, raw throat, and screamed once more.

It dawned on Nabooru that she was about to die. The panic subsided, leaving space for a mix of desperation, resignation and absolute disbelief. Die! She didn't even feel alive yet; the war and battles had taken everything in her. It was unfair, it was wrong, it was too early, and there was nothing she could do about it.

The head before her, filling her vision and her mind, snapped, its jaw opening wide. A splinter of bone flew with a loud crack into the windshield, causing a web of fractures to crawl instantly in every direction. She flinched.

Had the beast hit itself somewhere?

The roar, this time, was fury incarnate. The Flit was violently thrown to one side, and Nabooru was projected out of her seat and against the ceiling. There was thunder, an explosion, and her head hit a metal frame. White spots appeared before her eyes and she felt the Flit being crushed from all sides. She was dead, she was about to die. She didn't want to die…

Why had his bone splintered?

And sudden darkness.

Strange thing, death. Here she was, floating in the void, and it was a euphoric sensation as bright colours and pictures fluttered by too fast for capture, her breath quick and happy. She liked it. If this was death, she could probably handle it. Sounds of laughter and gurgling and cracking resounded around her, like little streams and little fires, like happy thoughts. Voices. Such a strange thing, death.

"…asleep."

Asleep? Was death like sleep?

"…hurried…"

"… so tall… and dark…"

The little whimpered words amused her. Children's voices. Were they dead too, then? Could they see her? She'd wanted children during life. It'd have been sweet.

"Wake up, _huma_."

This voice was not child-like. It was a man's voice, though young, hardened by gods-knew-what. Strange voice.

"If you don't, I'll _deredante_― _Nonn_… I will kill you."

Kill her? The idea was laughable. She was already dead. Still, she made the difficult effort of opening her eyes. What would she see?

Two red dots ―two red glows― became gradually more distinct until they were finally shaped like two eyes. Everything else was black, indistinguishable. She grunted, and the eyes blinked. There was a squeak. The eyes vanished out of sight, replaced by rock.

Rock? How odd. Where were the meadows and the delightful scents? All she could smell and hear was fire ―small and weak, at that.

"Move aside, Rosa." The man's voice again.

Rosa? That wasn't her name… What _was_ her name again?

"She's alive!" Said the child's voice. A little girl.

"Move aside, Rosa." The man, impatiently.

"You'll help her? Right? You'll help her?"

"Move." The command was final. There was a rustle of fabric. She felt and heard nothing for a while. Suddenly something touched her chest, fleetingly, warmly, like a mere test.

And then she saw him.

He was leaning over her, eyes observing her every movement. His fingers were hard on her wrist, measuring her pulse. His lips, young, would-be-tasty, were pulled into a pinched scowl. His brows were furrowed, eyes cold and distant.

His features were regal, a bit haughty but so stern that it wasn't playful anymore. Pale, wispy hair fell over direct red eyes, a result, she presumed, of troglodyte wanderings.

She saw the simple but lethal-looking sword hanging out of his coat and knew that she wasn't dead.

But how? She had been at the mercy of that… thing? Whatever it was, it had to have claimed her life.

"Look at me," the young man commanded. He left no room for argument. "What is your _nym_… your name?"

Her name? Good question. His gaze was hard to bear.

Nabooru? "Nabooru." Her voice was a hoarse croak, weak and tired.

This was met with a long, stern silence, followed with, "What are you doing in _Udertegaia_… the Underworld?"

What? Underworld? She didn't have the strength to speak or think. What was the Underworld?

"But shouldn't she drink?" The little girl asked. "Ask her if she wants to drink."

The young man grunted, breaking eye contact. She took a chance to conclude that he was quite handsome, if a little cold-tempered. The next thing she knew, he'd brought a waterskin to her mouth, and, gently, was prodding her to take a few careful sips.

"It is water," he gruffly told her. "Go slowly."

The water did wonders for her throat, lips and tongue. A few drops dribbled down her chin, and she didn't care.

But as soon as she could speak again, she had to ask, "Where am I? Why haven't I been killed? What was that thing? Where is it now?"

"She has a pretty voice," the little girl, presumably Rosa, whispered to the pale-haired man. "It's so deep, like yours."

By comparison, Nabooru considered, to such a high-pitched voice, any voice would seem deep.

The man hardly paid Rosa any heed. He was examining Nabooru, calculating. Finally, he said, "The demon you saw is named Stallord." She had trouble withstanding his direct, intense gaze. "He is the western guardian of Subrosia."

"Western guardian? Subrosia?"

Rosa let out a little squeak that was both upset and indignant. "Oh, she's so confused she doesn't even know about us, Vaati. What are we to do?"

The young man shot Rosa a sharp glance, his face otherwise betraying no thoughts. He didn't seem to think her interruptions annoying. In fact, he didn't seem to have any opinion on the minuscule, cloaked girl. Nabooru tried to see beyond the double glow of her eyes, but could discern nothing. From time to time, the curve of a nose ―was it a nose, even? ― was outlined by the weak fires lit in the cavern, but otherwise, she could not figure out what Rosa looked like to begin with.

"At any rate," Rosa said, deploringly, her high-pitched voice grating at Nabooru's eardrums, "you weren't very fortunate to come across Stallord. He and Bongo-Bongo and Death Sword aren't very welcoming guardians. Oh, you should have come through the south. Jalhalla isn't nearly so threatening."

The stream of words meant nothing, and Nabooru felt herself become light-headed once more.

The young man ―Vaati, was it? ― touched her shoulder. She felt the soft but firm pressure and did her best to stay focused. Something in his gaze was warning her to remain conscious.

"These _cavat_… These caves are a… protected territory," he said, his voice deep and level. He had a turn to his phrases, a sort of guttural accent that made his words seem much older than they were. "Subrosia has existed since the exile of Subrosians following the first Redead epidemic, aeons ago. You would not understand the age of its people, or begin to comprehend their purpose." He paused, perhaps for effect, or perhaps for this information to sink in, before adding, a mild note of warning in his tone, "Your trespassing in these forbidden caves has come as an omen."

"An omen?" She echoed, weakly, and cast a look around the large cave, and spotted many fires around which shadows of cloaked children huddled and scurried like bugs. In the gloom, she discerned nothing but rock face. Hadn't they any means of sheltering themselves from the cold? Was their organisation restricted to huddling around fires, even after ages of oblivion and solitude?

The Underworld… Subrosians… Subrosia… The people of secrecy, under the roses…

"But Subrosia is a legend," she suddenly exclaimed, and a squeak from Rosa told her she'd spoken out of line. Still, she couldn't help but think of the tales. Even now, the full story wasn't clear in her mind. She had patches and puzzle pieces, though nothing clear or certain. How frustrating…

The Subrosians were folks of Magic, or so the tale of Mudora went. But why would such powerful beings resort to hiding in the Underworld? Or was she mixing up the tale with that of the Kokiri? No, the Kokiri hadn't hidden below ground. If they existed, of course.

But what if the Subrosians hadn't been mere bedtime tales for overexcited children? Nabooru felt her throat close up and doubt creep into the edge of her consciousness.

What else had she thought were nothing but legends? How much more was there in the world for her to discover?

"Subrosia exists," Vaati the pale assured her. "And you should be grateful that it does, or else you would have lost your life to the guardian Stallord. He is not quite as gentle today as he once was." He smirked a little, and Nabooru's mouth fell open at his misplaced amusement. "He no longer distinguishes friend from foe, ageless as he is."

Overwhelmed, she grew angry. "None of this makes sense." She threw a hand around and motioned at the weak fires. "All these children and bleak lights… none of this is what Subrosia was said to be. Have you lost your mind? Where are the grand palaces, the columns of precious metals and stones?" She turned an angry eye on the only man in the cave. "And you… you are nothing like them. Who are you? Why have you brought me here? I've got something I need to do."

By the gods. Yes, she had something she needed to do. The Admiral's mission!

Was her Flit still intact? Oh, Sands, Skies and Seas, and all the gods of Old, let her Flit be in one piece!

Vaati raised a pale brow, but said nothing. She groaned in exasperation.

"If you'll excuse me, I need to… return to my Flit, find the godforsaken exit, and return to the surface where I have a task to fulfill."

Vaati's gaze grew grim. "A task put to you as an obligation by a powerful man, was it not?"

Rosa, next to her, shifted with a rustle of fabric, and Nabooru barely glanced down at her.

"Yes, though it is none of your business."

Vaati stood. She stood. Rosa cowered. Coolly, the young man set his mouth in a tight line.

"I am afraid I cannot allow you free passage to the further reaches of Subrosia on your own." He glared, as though he could guess her goal. How, though? It was impossible. No one knew, outside of the Admiral and herself, and this young man had quite literally been living under a rock all this time. He couldn't possibly have heard.

"I'm afraid you have no choice," Nabooru hissed. "I have to return to the world above."

Vaati said nothing, but smirked.

She turned to Rosa, whose red eyes looked worried in the dim light. The obscurity was getting to Nabooru's temper. It was unnerving.

"Rosa, was it? Please, Rosa, would you kindly point me in the direction of my Flit?"

Rosa shook, her gaze darted from side to side, before she finally squeaked and hid behind Vaati's legs.

Oh, for the love of―

"She will not help you," Vaati softly said. "Subrosians do not serve strangers."

"Lovely," Nabooru grumbled. "Just what I needed."

"Fortunately, I may have a solution for you."

Warily, she eyed the pale man, wondering what tricks his handsome features could possibly hide.

"You mean you could tell me where that giant hairy skeleton guard threw my Flit?"

"Oh, I can tell you," Vaati shrugged. "It fell into a crevasse and was torn to pieces. That was not the subject of my suggestion."

Panic filled the captain. No more Flit? No more means of travel? Was she doomed to remain in this gloomy, dark, cold cave until the end of her life?

"I can tell from your frightened expression that you have not been listening," Vaati commented, his low tone holding a hint of exasperation and boredom at once. "Clearly, the people from above have grown absent-minded with the passing centuries."

Nabooru watched the pitiful fires around her. "At least we've evolved." Why were his eyes red?

"I will escort you through Subrosia _eynlen_. Personally," he translated, deliberately ignoring her comment.

Rosa, next to them, shifted and let out a low whine, causing Nabooru to glance her way confusedly. Then, turning a suspicious eye on Vaati, the red-haired captain inquired, "What do you want in exchange?"

Vaati squared his shoulders, examining her from head to toe. She waited, but he only said, "I will call on the favour in due time." His dark expression was foreboding, but she had only to cast a look around the gloom to know that she had no choice but to take on his deal.

She took a deep breath. "And now I know why people sell their souls to evil. Lack of choice."

Vaati looked mildly amused.

"For the record," Nabooru continued, "I'm not all powerful, so you better not ask for the impossible."

This seemed to amuse Vaati, because he smiled without humour.

"Do not concern yourself with that," Vaati said, and though she presumed he'd wanted to sound reassuring, his commanding tone unnerved her. "I will ask for something well within your bounds."

"How pleasant to know," she sarcastically commented, glancing down to look at Rosa's cloaked figure as the girl pulled on Vaati's coat with a few tugs.

Vaati looked down and didn't wince when Rosa's high-pitched voice questioned, "Oh, Vaati, you can't let her into the city. What if she wants to head up into―" Before she even finished her sentence, she silenced herself with a squeak, as though she'd said too much.

"She will not do anything I do not condone," Vaati calmly declared as he looked back up, his eyes carrying a mild threat, daring her to disagree. "She will reach Ikana, _nonn mun_."

Something stunned Nabooru then. She couldn't pinpoint what it was. She'd been eyeing the fires for a few minutes now, trying to understand, wondering why, if the figures huddled around them were burning wood and coal, there were no traces of black or smears. And why hadn't they burned all their oxygen yet?

If they were miles below a solid rock surface, and so far away from every exit, how could they so freely burn things, after spending ages below ground? They shouldn't have had anything left to burn, surely, whether it be oxygen or…

That wasn't coal they were burning. It was wood. Real wood. But trees didn't grow in absence of light.

Maybe she was closer to an exit than she thought.

And then, she frowned, turned back to Vaati, and asked, "I never mentioned I was going to Ikana. How did you know?"

The man's enigmatic smile annoyed her, mostly because she had never met anyone with the kind of perceptiveness he had unveiled. Mind readers, she thought with a small burst of panic, weren't supposed to exist!

But then, Subrosians had been nothing but old tales yesterday, and see where she'd crashed.

Vaati bent to gather a small bag that he slung over his shoulder. "I see you have much still to learn. Perhaps you will find our little journey into the deep most…" He paused, searching for a word. "_Entellidana_… informative."

It nagged at her, and she asked a question that, anywhere on the surface, would have shamed her for its outlandishness. But here, somehow, it seemed fitting. "Have you… been waiting for me?"

Vaati turned an amused eye on her, but replied with a thin lipped smile that was both ironic and appreciative. After a thoughtful pause, he worded his reply carefully. "_Ja seya_, the oddest of encounters can change the face of a world. And it seems to me that the overworld is in great need of change."


	18. 2-1 - The Magician

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 1: THE MAGICIAN**

* * *

><p><em>19<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, Samasa<br>Ingo the mechanic's home, next to the workshop_

He'd gone for the hand. It had felt so damn good to shoot something right then. He wasn't the kind to get sentimental and control his impulses, or even censor his thoughts. He was feeling righteously murderous, and the Twili psycho had deserved every jolt of pain he'd felt when the bullet had burst into his gun-wielding hand.

That bitch ―or princess, same difference― Midna had a way of pissing off all kinds of bad people. It was uncanny.

And pathetic, he reminded himself. Just pathetic.

It didn't really matter that he'd shot the male Twili ―whoever he was― on sight, just because he'd been pointing a gun in her direction. His timing had been impeccable. A few seconds later, and she had a hole in her face. The surge of bile that had risen in his throat he attributed to his anger that his next victim was going to be killed by a vicious nobody.

And Midna Black was entirely _his_ to kill. Nobody would torture, injure, threaten or murder her on his watch. Her life was his to dispose of now. _No one_ turned him on and left him stranded. No one.

Betrayal. The word tasted bitter on his tongue. He didn't understand it. He thought he'd made himself clear, thought she'd believed him.

Somehow it didn't matter to whom he swore allegiance, as long as he kept on doing things with purpose. Midna Black's sense of duty and her hidden determination had switched him over. Whatever it was she wanted, he was sure he liked it.

And yet, she had left him.

His muscles still ached from the pain of reaching out the window and grabbing onto the hotel roof. His palms were chafed forever, burn marks etched into the place where he'd used all his strength just to get out of that damn room.

Like she thought he wouldn't check on her in the middle of the night. Ha! When he realised the door was bolted, there weren't a thousand questions running through his mind. Only dread and betrayal.

He had known exactly where she would go. Where else?

The moment he'd entered the hangar, finding Ingo's hunting rifle had soothed his raw hands and his bruised ego. He would hunt her down.

Fortunately, she hadn't left yet, and she had company.

That snivelling Ingo was still cowering in the corner of his room, and Dark was certain he'd pissed himself in fear at the surprisingly loud detonation of the rifle.

The male Twili was screaming his lungs out now as he clutched his broken and bloody hand, and Dark felt it annoy his already sensitive and traumatized eardrums. The gun had shot louder than he'd expected. Probably was a cheap thing.

Still, it had blown that guy's hand into pudding, a symphony of gore: beautiful and oh, so satisfying. It was satisfying in a way coming out the winner at Great Fish hadn't been.

And Midna. Midna, whose breasts had mesmerized him, even though they were smaller than Aveil's, whose intelligence surpassed even Nabooru's, whose wit matched his, Midna was standing there in near shock, looking at him as though she hadn't seen him before.

Dark frowned. She had his gun, so why hadn't she used it on the trigger-happy asshole?

He'd never understand women.

Her mouth opened, closed, and opened again, but no sound came out. Her wide eyes, in the semi-light, were a soft yellow-gold that reminded him of a cat's. He'd have done unspeakable things to her. Good things.

Right now, though, all he could feel was unforgiving anger and spite. And frustration.

"You insignificant runt," the Twili man spat, nearly foaming at the mouth. "You have no idea who you've just angered!"

Dark rolled his eyes and focused on his victim again. "You're right. I have no clue who you are, tough guy. Care to introduce yourself?"

Midna Black, meanwhile, was clearly trying to formulate a full sentence. All that came out, though, was a stream of half-spoken words: "Wha― ah― Why― How―"

Ingo, meanwhile, was whimpering in fear.

Dark considered the overall scene and chose a single word to describe it. Insane.

Suddenly, Midna shook her head, as if to clear it, and exclaimed, "_How did you get here_?" The tone was so high-pitched and confused that Dark had to hold back a smile.

Rather than show her how amusing she was, he ground out a curt, "I'm in good shape." Though it had been very embarrassing to realise how hard it actually was to haul himself up. He tried not to think of it. "And now, why don't you be a dear and introduce me to Happy Trigger here?" He jutted his chin in the Twili man's direction.

"My name," the man in question said, rising to his full height ―therefore towering a good foot above Dark― and apparently ignoring the pain in his bleeding hand, "is Zant Grim, Artificial Design of Twilight, and soon its overlord."

Overlord of Twilight? Dark shot Midna Black a sceptical look.

"Don't be so hasty," Midna spat murderously. "You haven't quite reached that status, Zant."

"Zant Grim." Dark pursed his lips, and risked angering him even more. "You know, I don't think that's right. I'll call you Mad."

He barely had time to catch an oddly astonished look from the princess of Twilight before he ducked to avoid a powerful punch from the usurper. Zant Grim had tried to grab hold of his hair with his good hand, but Dark rolled away and aimed again.

This time, though, the Twili was ready. Before Dark could think, he was pinned under his opponent's foot, winded by the forceful kick on his torso. His eyes wide, he tried to catch his breath, to little avail.

What the hell? How did having his hand blown to bits not make him cuddle into a ball and whimper? Was he on drugs?

"If you find amusement in mocking me," Zant Grim ―Mad, rather― said, digging his heel into Dark's chest, "I'm afraid I'll have no choice but to punish you and take payment."

Dark, his hold loosening on the rifle, struggled to come up with a wittier remark, but had no breath. He was sure blood vessels on his chest had broken and he'd have Zant Grim's footprint bruised in his skin for a long while. And now he couldn't aim.

"Leave him alone," Midna Black growled suddenly, and, to Dark's astonishment, she swung herself at Zant. Before the usurper could expect it, she slammed the butt of her pistol on the back of his skull, knocking him off balance, and allowed Dark a chance of escape thanks to the distraction.

But before Dark or Midna could recover their own equilibrium, Zant had thrown the princess aside as though she were a mere fleck of dust, a brilliant flash of red light burning into Dark's retina. His first thought was that of a small explosion, or a miniature firecracker. Maybe one of those forest nuts that exploded on impact? He'd seen a few being used by children during festive celebrations.

But no, the burning feeling, the heat of the flash's release, everything told him he was dealing with something much grimmer.

He felt something brush past him towards the door, but all he could wonder about was whether Midna Black had survived the red burst. What had that thing been, anyway? The more he thought about it, the less it seemed familiar, and yet the more it called to some sort of instinctive memory within.

Upsettingly, Dark was convinced he knew what he was dealing with, without remembering what it was, and he racked his brain to remember, to know, to understand, to no avail.

Midna Black had landed against the wall, and she grunted when Dark touched her. Her clothes were burned and she seemed in pain.

Instead of asking for comfort, though, she shot a wild look around the room and cried, "Where is Zant? He has the Sol!"

Sol? Dark furrowed a brow. What in the world was she talking about?

"Sol?" He echoed dumbly. "What's a Sol? And stop moving, you'll hurt yourself."

Midna would hear none of it. Digging nails into his arm painfully, the princess ground out a menacing command. "The Flit. He's going to take it. _Stop_ him."

Well, he wasn't quite sure what she was talking about, but at least he knew, vaguely, what she wanted. She wanted him to stop Mad.

"That's easier said than done," he growled, nevertheless reaching for the rifle and hurrying to the door. If she was healthy enough to hurt him with her firm grip, she'd have to deal with getting up alone.

Screw this anyway; nobody had told him this delivery thing would get so complicated.

The hangar was still obscure, only illuminated by uncertain lights from the street, but Dark could easily see Zant as the madman made haste to the Flit. What was so important about their cargo that Midna and Zant would war over it?

"Hold it, Mad," Dark grunted, reloading the rifle with a new set of cartridges as he swiftly advanced on the usurper, thief and whatever-else-the-bastard-was, "You haven't gotten leave yet."

"I'm afraid," Zant Grim coolly said, turning to gaze at him calmly, "that I do."

And this time, no doubt about it, Zant Grim made a red flame appear before him, like that bright red orb that had exploded before, and this time, Dark heard him mutter what Midna's forced grunts had previously covered: "_Pyr_."

At the murmur, the red orb exploded into a firestorm, a star of burning flames, ones that nearly engulfed Dark whole. He didn't even scream, so perplexed and shocked was he by the oddity.

"_Omber_!" Midna Black's voice suddenly called, and soon Dark was enveloped in a cloud of shadowy mist as heavy as droplets of thick liquid. It obscured everything for an instant, and when it cleared up, the fire was gone.

"What's going on?" He cried, brows furrowed in confusion. "What is this stuff?"

His anguished cry was lost as Zant, clearly thrown off-balance by Midna's unorthodox interference, fled, shouting Twili curses with rage.

Fled! Like a thief!

Was anyone reliable anymore?

"Dark, stop him!" Midna called, running over to him, her hands taking hold of his sleeve as she tugged. "Shoot him, kill him, do something!"

Disgruntled, Dark nevertheless started to sprint, his rifle banging against his thigh. He considered asking for a demotion later on. There was no way a regular foot soldier ever had to deal with this kind of bullshit.

But he didn't have time to exit the hangar. A sudden detonation knocked him off his feet, and he covered his face just in time to shield it from the debris and explosive shells. To cover the sound of the crash, he screamed as loudly as he could, mentally inventing a whole new set of curses.

Damn Midna Black and Zant Grim and every Twili on the face of this earth; he'd simply have to kill them if he got out of this alive.

The ceiling caved in a little, and for a terrifying moment, it seemed it would collapse. But it merely creaked and stopped. Dark wasn't sure he wanted to stay much longer.

Gasps and panting. Midna appeared in his line of sight, hiding the threatening ceiling from view. He hardly noticed her look of concern and panic.

"Dark!" Her voice sounded muffled. Her hand came to his cheek, trying to check for signs of life. He blinked. Her relief was obvious. "Dark, are you―"

This was all her fault. Now they had lost everything, hadn't they? He'd get his demotion, and not even because he'd asked. That was if he didn't get executed for betraying the Guardian Coalition.

Well, that'd be inconvenient.

He reached up to grab her neck, and in an instant, she was the one lying on the rubble-covered floor; she was the one wondering whether she'd die.

She barely looked scared, only preoccupied. Her fingers tried to pry his hands away, but she wasn't strong enough.

"No!" He ground out, pressing his thumbs into her airway. "You… you left me in that room! Alone!" He had tried to keep his disappointment out of his voice. "What is wrong with you, woman?"

The only sound that came out of her mouth was a gurgle and a tiny keening sound. Breathing hard, he loosened his hold and started shaking her, though this time, she put up a bit of a fight.

"What the fuck were you thinking? You think that was pleasant? What could possibly have gone through your stubborn, traitorous, lying, manipulative mind to leave me like that, you sick, twisted…?" He was looking for a noun, and came up with nothing.

"Are you all out of adjectives?" She managed to croak, and he growled, giving her a shove that pressed her onto the floor. He held her shoulders firmly, knowing that it would be painful.

"No, I'm not. You run off to steal the Flit, our cargo, and then you need my help to get out of trouble with Lord Mad-pants there, and I risk dying at least five times in less than half-an-hour, and then you act as if you didn't put me through all that shit? You have better start explaining to me what you're up to, because―"

"Stop, you're ranting," she grunted.

He released her somewhat, but spoke louder, punctuating every word. "You-are-going-to-drive-me-insane!"

She stared at him for a moment, and then, unexpectedly, she laughed. She actually laughed.

"You came in the nick of time," she breathed.

And then, she reached up to his sweaty face, cradled it, and kissed him.

And her lips were soft, and his heart was pounding from the exertion, and the whole world moved at lightning speeds in utter silence, for hours or seconds, as the neon lights of the street brightened to supernovas, until he felt every emotion he knew wash away, replaced with nothing but exhilaration, wanting and fulfillment at once.

When at last she pulled away for air, he was empty. He stared in confusion, and she smiled her typical fiendish smile.

For a strange moment, his stomach and heart twisted.

"My hangar!"

Dark looked up. Ingo. The moronic mechanic had stumbled into the area, looking around at the destruction and chaos, his face a mask of panic and despair.

"My hangar!" He repeated, as if anyone cared.

The ceiling creaked. Reality kicked in.

Dark turned back to Midna. "From now on," he growled, "you will do as I say. You will not walk away until we've cleared this up."

She grunted and pushed herself up with difficulty.

"We need to get the Sol back," she grunted.

Dark opened his mouth, closed it, ignored as Ingo started sobbing and pulling at his limited hair, and finally asked, "What's a Sol, anyway?"


	19. 2-2 - The Onlooker

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 2: THE ONLOOKER**

* * *

><p><em>24<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Sky City Celestia<br>Platform A-5_

Kidd was growing restless. Meeting the princess of Hyrule in the flesh had lost its entertainment value already, and she hadn't been awake for more than two days.

He dug his fingers in Wulf's fur, revelling in the coarse softness of the dog's hair. The princess had charged him with keeping Wulf active while she recovered properly and made plans for the near future. Somehow, he hadn't obeyed because she was royal, but rather because she'd requested it from him with such a nice smile.

He wasn't the only one who had fallen under the princess' spell. Anyone could tell that the captain had, too.

Well, Kidd considered mildly, there were worse choices.

He pursed his lips and watched as Wulf raised his head to look at a flock of birds. He'd long given up on allowing the dog into the upper city, mostly because Wulf had the bad habit of running after the Oocca.

Kidd smirked. Those Oocca people were funny. They reminded him of the cuckoos he'd terrorized back home. Funny clucking things, getting scared and angry with a few nudges of a stick…

Still, after six days of doing nothing but play with Wulf, he had to admit that things were getting a little long. It wasn't so hard to care for an animal, as he had hoped that flitting would make his life a tad more interesting. Instead, the only ones who had gotten the real opportunity to visit the city were Four-Eyes and Colin, and the Flit wasn't flying at all.

Speaking of Colin, the navigator was always so soft. It was a miracle that he'd even qualified for a military position. Inquiries into his success had been rather fruitless, because every time he'd asked, Colin had shrugged and mumbled something about a contact at the military academy. If Kidd were the suspicious type, he'd have thought Colin's unexpected secrecy a little alarming, but Kidd wasn't inclined to worry, and no one else seemed concerned.

As far as Four-Eyes went, Kidd didn't know what to make of him. He was rich, for one, and smart, too, and as different from him as night and day. He wasn't sure if he'd imagined the slight grimaces made by the aristocrat whenever they bumped into one another, but it was likely that the discomfort ―and exasperation― was mutual.

But Kidd's personal favourites were the mechanics. Sheik and Malon, with their contrasting natures and sharp tongues, were as fun to watch as a chicken street race, full of turns and twists and especially, sometimes, sufficiently foul words to merit an annoyed look from Link. He'd taken a liking to Malon, who sung as she worked. She was as low-class as they came, but smart and kind and pretty. She also knew more bad words than even the biggest Castleton bullies.

Kidd had learned a lot in the past few days, and most of it would have to be kept like a state secret.

"No… agree…"

He turned as he recognized Sheik's voice over the powerful wind. As usual, he was closely tailed by Malon, whose temper was still flaring. And apparently, they were arguing again.

Sheik was a smooth talker, so it was odd to see him get upset about Malon so often. Maybe it was because she purposefully teased him and was actually as good at what he did as one who knew machines all her life.

Kidd stopped scratching Wulf's ears and watched as the two mechanics approached, their voices loud but distant and garbled by the gusts of strong wind that swept the platforms.

"It won't… necessary," Sheik still argued.

"There's no way we can… Flit in time. If she wants to lea… sometime this year… need it," Malon replied, her cheeks flushed with the stress of debating.

They were nearing him, and this time, Kidd heard everything Sheik had to say: "We can't afford to buy a new Flit from you, so if I have to put in some overtime to fix ours―"

"It can't be done for tomorrow!" Malon exclaimed, throwing her arms out, as though she wanted to emphasize how dim Sheik was. She sobered long enough to ground out a patient, "As long as I come with you to supervise―"

"That's out of the question," Sheik aggressively growled, his red eyes flashing in anger.

Malon crossed her arms, the wind whipping stray strands of her red hair around. "I don't see why. You need a Flit, right? I have one ―a _functional_ one― and you reject it on the basis that I'd have to tag along?"

Sheik said nothing, but his reply was implicit. Malon's face turned a pretty shade of indignant pink.

"You should ask your crewmates about that, hm? They might not be as averse to the idea as you are."

"Listen," Sheik continued, now reaching for his last arguments, "a Flit isn't a very large craft, and we're already going to be in close-quarters as it is―" Malon's lips quirked upwards. She rolled her eyes, and suddenly noticed Kidd. Sheik followed her gaze and almost groaned. "Oh, no, don't you dare ask him―"

"Kidd," Malon cooed, stretching the syllable of the boy's name, "What says you answer me a question, hm?"

Kidd smiled, throwing Sheik a knowing, mischievous smirk to which the sergeant responded with a malevolent glare.

"If I were to give you a choice between a bang-up military Flit and a brand new spacious elegant and comfortable one, which would you choose?" Malon asked, ignoring Sheik's scowl.

Out of curiosity, boredom and a true desire to annoy the male mechanic, Kidd pursed his lips and, after a short pause, inquired, "Well, I'd have to see it. To make my mind up, see?"

"Gladly," Malon exclaimed, and Kidd tried not to snicker at Sheik's tired, glum look. The redhead tapped him with the back of her hand chummily. "He's got some good sense, at least, doesn't he?"

"Excellent," Sheik deadpanned as Malon motioned for Kidd and Wulf to follow her.

It wasn't such a wonder that Sheik was unwilling to leave the Flit behind to be repaired while they flew away. He'd apparently salvaged it from uncountable battles in his position as its mechanic, and had grown so attached to it that even Malon's aid was accepted with reluctance.

"You know what the problem is with this idea?" Sheik said as they headed up into the city core, "The fact that we're going to owe you something."

"Not at all," Malon lightly said.

But Kidd understood Sheik's point, especially when Malon opened the hangar door.

"Behold," she said, "the _Red Lion_."

Gleaming in the sunlight that poured through the rolled open roof of the hangar, a speed carrier, painted bright red, waited, a loud hum emanating from its engine as it charged up on electricity and fuel. A white stylized design, the face of a man ―or a lion― on its nose, the mane morphing into waves ―or clouds― and spread to its retractable wings.

Three propellers, two large hovercrafts, and the implicit power of the engine were enough to convince Kidd. The airship would be large enough for a crew of ten people to live in close quarters. It was top of the line and probably worth many thousand rupees on the open market. Kidd knew how expensive airships were. Everyone did.

"Yeah!" He turned to Malon, turned back to the aircraft, then hollered, "Yeah!"

He grinned at the mechanic. Malon laughed and ruffled his hair. Wulf, his tongue lolling as he panted excitedly, looked at his new friends without knowing what made them happy.

Sheik, on the other hand, did not look pleased. He stared sullenly at the carrier, his arms crossed over his chest. Malon smiled up at him.

"Why so morose?" she asked, cocking her head, eyes bright.

Sheik glanced at her, shrugged and walked back out of the hangar. The sun was bright out, and the wind strong.

Malon looked down at Kidd and made a face, to which he smirked.

She jogged after Sheik anyway. In the wind, their words were carried away, but it looked like Sheik was back to sulking.

"Kidd, what are you doing in there?" Link Forester called out. Kidd had just stepped out of the hangar and turned to the captain.

His eyes widened when he saw the princess was on her feet for the first time today. She was tightly wrapped in a long, ornate robe, and was flanked by Link on one side and Shad on the other.

Wulf went crazy. His leash tore away from Kidd's hands before he could even think of holding on tighter. Training alone kept the great beast from toppling his mistress over. As though energized by the dog's excitement, Zelda too took on some colours and ruffled her dog's fur around the collar and behind the ears, grinning.

Link and Shad were both smiling at the sight, and Kidd noticed mirrored emotions.

Well, he was no expert, but that boded ill. Probably. In the long term.

"Thank you, Kidd," the princess breathed. "You've done me a great favour, keeping him in such good health. I'll find a way to repay you, I promise."

Kidd shrugged. "It's alright." Only belatedly did he realise that having a princess owe him a favour would probably be worth something.

Zelda Harkinian too seemed to know he was passing something up. She raised a brow. "Let me know." There was a patient response. He felt the urge to bow in thanks, but merely nodded slowly.

Rising, she took Wulf's leash and handed it back to Kidd.

"I'm still not strong enough to take him exercising. A few more days and he'll be off your hands. Please?"

Kidd shrugged, and accepted the leash.

Princess Zelda turned to her two escorts. An imperceptible agreement passed between the three of them. Link Forester faced Kidd again.

"Where's Colin?" He asked, frowning.

"Up." Kidd indicated the Sky City above. "He's buying food."

Shad glanced inside the hangar. "Oh, Malon showed you her airship."

The orphan thief nodded. "She says the Flit won't be ready on time. She suggests we take this one."

Link's jaw clenched, and he stared at the two mechanics arguing on the other side of the landing pad, too far to overhear. "Damn. Sheik's not going to be happy."

"He isn't," Kidd agreed. "Said he just needed more time."

"We don't have more time," Shad Knowing said. "The next leg of the war will be fought over Waker, and we must get there before more islands get destroyed. Great Fish Isle was a catastrophe we cannot afford to repeat."

"I suspect the battle has already begun," Zelda acquiesced. "We ought to head to Windfall with haste if we want to change anything."

Kidd watched their exchange in silence. He knew very little of the Alliance's geography, just enough to know that Waker was due south of Hyrule, and that it was split between the Guardian Coalition, to the west, and what remained of the Hylian Alliance, to the east.

As far as cities went, he didn't really know. He could point to countries on a map, but that was it. So far, the only country whose territories hadn't been encroached by the Guardians was Termina, but if Waker was taken, it would be most vulnerable through its ocean frontier. And then, Hyrule would be almost completely surrounded.

"Your highness." Malon and Sheik were back, and they had apparently come to a decision too. As Zelda watched them bow in reverence, Malon said, "You can borrow my ship if it pleases you."

Kidd shot Sheik a look, and though the mechanic looked unhappy, he said nothing. Perhaps Malon had convinced him that a tiny, bumped-up Flit wouldn't measure up to the space and speed the _Red Lion_ could provide.

"Your offer could not be more welcome, Ms. Ranch," Zelda graciously said. "I will be sure to repay you if our endeavour succeeds."

Malon shrugged. "If it's alright with you, I'll go find the little navigator. If you're doing fine, princess, we should get going as early as possible. From Celestia, it's just three flight hours to Windfall, but I suspect the ride will be rough."

"I agree," Shad said. "Time cannot be wasted. If we can gather all the resources, we ought to leave today."

Zelda shot her aristocrat friend a guarded look. Kidd wondered if she knew something about Shad's eagerness to leave, or maybe if she knew just why he wasn't happy in Celestia.

If she did, she didn't let on, and Malon excused herself, heading towards the central bridge, where she'd catch the elevator up into the city. With a nod at the princess, who smiled, Link stepped into the hangar to take a look at the airship. Rather than stay with the two aristocrats, Sheik and Kidd followed suit.

"So she isn't kidding," Link said. "That mechanic sure means business."

He was talking about Malon. Sheik eyed him dully. "Don't let it get to her head. I asked to leave our Flit here until I can come back to fix it. Pretty much everything but the com system is shot. I'm not going to lie, Forester. We're going to be trapped in debt."

"I thought you said she didn't ask for parts money," Link said, frowning.

"She didn't. That's the problem. How will we repay her?" Sheik stared at the Red Lion, looking sorry.

"Maybe she thinks it's all for the homeland."

Sheik shot him a strange look. "Maybe that's what she tells herself. What amazes me is that her _real_ employer thinks otherwise. Celestia's notoriously unaligned."

"You're worried about something else too," Link said, stepping towards the _Red Lion_ and knocking a knuckle onto the bright red fuselage.

"Actually, yes," Sheik sighed, running a hand through his platinum blonde hair. "_Our_ employer. We left without any word for Commander Impa Shades. If she gets back to Castleton and we're not there to report, or worse, if she realises we vanished at the same time as the princess, she'll be _pissed_."

"Do you think the Flit's com system can relay the message all the way to Castleton? We have the authentication codes and everything."

Sheik shrugged. "I guess, maybe. I don't know. I can try to get through before we leave, but what would I say? That we disobeyed orders to go have some fun in the islands, and that the Flit is a partially-reconstructed wreck?"

Link eyed his mechanic critically, his brow furrowed. "With the princess' authorisation, we'll relay that she's fine and needs us to escort her on a peacekeeping mission."

Sheik raised a brow. "And you think that'll do the job?" His tone let on he didn't think it would.

Link frowned, and sharply said, "It's the best we can do under the circumstances." With friendly concern, he added, "What's gotten into you? Since we got here, you haven't been your usual self. We can all do better."

Sheik straightened like he'd been punched. "Yes, sir." There was no apology, but the two men didn't seem to need one. "I'll go check on the Flit's com."

Link nodded. Kidd frowned. They watched as Sheik walked out of the hangar onto the platform, past the princess and her friend.

Kidd turned to the captain and said, "He's in love."

At first baffled, Link Forester finally laughed out loud and said, "Right, Kidd. I'll bet."

But when Malon returned with Colin and food, looking flushed and excited and cheerful, her red hair mussed and windblown, Kidd shot Link a new glance, to which the captain could only purse his lips, then sigh.

"Ah." His head lolled to the side in thought. "Well. You're probably right."


	20. 2-3 - The Sage's Tree

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 3: THE SAGE'S TREE**

* * *

><p><em>24<em>_th__ Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, the Whispering Caves<br>Subrosia_

The caves were dark, and they kept howling with some inexplicable wind. Nabooru couldn't sleep, and it wasn't only because of the eerie sounds echoing around her, though those were not helping at all. She could swear she heard voices she recognised at times, but sitting up and straining to make out any words was about as useless as it was frustrating. Besides, as familiar as the voices sounded, she could never truly identify their owner, and she feared that it would drive her mad.

Her discomfort was heightened by the humid cold that seemed to seep right out of the cavern walls and into her uniform. She had no spare clothes, given that her Flit had been destroyed and lost. The Subrosians had offered her a thin blanket, but little else. Vaati had explained that until she was trusted by the secretive race, she would be given but the strict minimum.

Vaati. He, in contrast, seemed to be hailed almost as a god. What reservations the Subrosians had for her, they had long overcome for him.

She turned over on the hard rock, and squinted at the small fires in the midst of the diminutive cloaked people. She saw Vaati, too, sitting cross-legged a little ways apart from them. He looked ever serious and pensive, his brow furrowed in thought.

At length, he glanced her way. With one smooth movement, he rose to his feet and padded over, sitting once again, right next to her body.

"_Ja sodane somelu_…" At her raised brow, he repeated, "You are not sleeping."

"Evidently," she said. "The noises in here are too distracting."

Vaati looked up at the cavern vault. It was bathed with the flickering glow of fires, and dancing shadows seemed to move in time with the wind currents whistling through the tunnels. "Ah, the Whispers. I hardly hear them anymore."

"How long have you lived here?" Nabooru asked, dreading the answer. What madman would forsake the open skies for dark, dank caverns?

"Ages, _ey pinsda_," Vaati said, and he seemed not to mind. "These _cavat_ are all that is left intact of the _Brek Tegaia_ ―the Old World―, and they are the place where destiny lies in wait."

"Really." Nabooru fought the urge to roll her eyes.

"You have a role to play here, Spirit," Vaati said, his eyes shining oddly as he spoke her name. "In the great eternity, we are as puppets and pawns."

"You haven't done much that I heard of," Nabooru taunted, and hardly checked her frustration before lashing out.

"You would not. You were not born at the time of my last incursion on the surface."

"Please, you're younger than I am."

Vaati raised a pale brow, his red eyes suddenly evoking something out of the history books. She'd seen eyes like those before, but where? Why were so many things so familiar, when she'd never set foot in the Caves before?

He stood. "If you cannot sleep, we should get moving. _Tym_ is of the essence."

She wanted to argue, but found nothing to say. If, indeed, she could get out of the caves, she wanted to do it as soon as possible. Besides, the thought that the Subrosians lived here, in this great cavern, with hardly any furnishings or comforts, made her thoroughly depressed.

"Where are you taking me?" she asked as she gathered her blanket and followed cautiously. The Subrosians around the fires looked up, their eyes brightly suspicious, but they said nothing.

"You are heading to Ikana, _nonn_? This path," he motioned to an unlit tunnel leading down into the dark recesses of the caverns, hardly high enough for them to slip through, "will take us into the _kin_ of Subrosia, where many things will become clearer, and we will then move onward."

"_Kin_?"

"Kingdom, I think you call it now." His voice, smooth and controlled, echoed eerily in the narrow tunnel.

He did have something of an ancient feel about him. Nabooru felt discomfort eat at her. "You speak in Old Hylian. That language has been out of use for… a thousand years?"

"Many things have been out of use for a thousand years," he cryptically said. "The old paths, the ways of Magic―"

Nabooru snorted derisively. Right. Magic! Now there was something worth laughing at.

Vaati shot her a sharp look over his shoulder, one that carried a warning.

Suddenly Nabooru realised what was bothering her. He wasn't carrying any light source. And still, she could see where she set foot with clarity; she hadn't missed a step of the stairs thus far. This made her pause, and her brow furrowed.

"Where―"

Vaati's eyes, in the semi-dark, nearly glowed with wisdom. "Be not so swift to presume you possess any true understanding of the greater forces at work in this world, Spirit."

"You can call me Nabooru," she breathed, eyes wide, her hands instinctively searching for the tunnel walls as though she would lose herself in the soft glow, as though only the firm rock could keep her anchored. Wrong. Something was so wrong about all this. None of it made sense. Bits and pieces of thought and conscience flew in and out of her mind too fast to be grasped. Voices, again, but louder, because they were inside her head.

"That is your current _nym_," Vaati said, examining her reaction with almost clinical interest.

She frowned, her breath coming quickly. Like a burst of light in her mind's eye, she saw the _vast desert sands_, and _women dressed in purple_, and she felt rage and worry and determination and a myriad other sentiments alien to her yet so gods-awfully familiar they ached. She shook her head, exhaling raggedly. "Yes, it is." Again, her own frustration, her own furrowed brow over the _deep blue skies and the taunts of two old women_ and _the eyes of a boy with a green hat_, and knowing she could _use him_― she trembled. "What's that supposed to mean? And where is…" What is _the sitting statue in the blazing sun_? "…the light coming from?"

Vaati smiled, and in his thin smile she saw more than the answer to her voiced question. "You know what it is. In your heart, you know that something has been calling you to a greater purpose."

"All I know," Nabooru said weakly, holding firmly to the wall, feeling the floor shift and roll under her feet, _where the spears and Stalfos struck, where her slippers danced a deadly requiem written in blood_, "is that this place is strange―"

"It appeals to your memory, does it not? The Whispers, the _cavat_, everything."

"No." Here she was firm. _The world screamed for seven years!_ "I was sent here by Admiral Ganondorf Dragmire, admiral of the Guardian Coalition―"

"Yes." Vaati nodded, eyes unseeing. His voice changed. "Ganon." He spoke the name with a different kind of detachment, as though this detachment was forced. "He has a different role to play."

Like a blow to the mind, she saw Admiral _Ganondorf Dragmire_, though… it was and wasn't quite… She frowned. Something was off, like identical twins who didn't look quite―

Thinking about Ganondorf Dragmire, however, had the unexpected effect of soothing her clamouring thoughts. Now truly intrigued and somewhat annoyed, Nabooru reached out to grab Vaati's shoulder. He turned on his heel before she could touch him, his red eyes shining brightly in the gloom.

The eyes were what did it.

"Oh Sands," she breathed, pinned with his gaze. It carried with it shadows and fire. Suddenly she understood the fact with such clarity it made her step back in shock. Suddenly aeons of broken mirror shards and splinters flew together in a deadly storm, suddenly she felt herself expand, trying to encompass the meaning of the moment, suddenly, she knew… Suddenly all she knew was strictly nothing but one truth: the legends were true, therefore nothing made sense.

"You're a Sheikah," she whispered.

The bright red incandescence in Vaati's eyes did not waver, and he spoke no further.

Nabooru's mind reeled. The Sheikah were rumoured to have disappeared after their exile thousands of years ago. They were a legend, an entire race devoted to Shadow magic especially. Their desperate search for power had made the free peoples of Hylia shun them into what would then become the Twilight desert.

The Twili, in fact, were supposed to be their direct descendants, inhabitants of the night with little love of Light magic.

But how… could a Sheikah exist still? Were there more? How could he still live after thousands of years? Legends said only the Kokiri, a child tribe out of fairy tales, knew the Forest magic that mastered life and gave them eternal youth. If that was true, were the Kokiri real?

Furthermore, did they still live somewhere?

And did that mean… had Magic existed, and not only existed, but thrived in this Underworld, allowed to survive and evolve, granting all these supposedly vanished races long life?

Gods! Magic? Magic! If Magic existed, then all the laws that made the earth and the sky meant nothing.

Feeling dizzy, Nabooru clung to the tunnel wall, and tried to stay calm.

"Those fires the Subrosians back there were huddled around… that was Magic too," she breathed.

Vaati smiled thinly. "_A luon, ja veda_."

"Yes, I see at last," she breathed, still in shock.

Once again, it bothered her. She looked up at Vaati in utter surprise.

"I understood you," she slowly said. She tried hard not to look any more incredulous, but found the task unbelievably difficult. "How?"

"Spirit, you have a purpose, and slowly the inner path will open for you."

With those cryptic words, he turned and continued down the tunnel. Nabooru stared after him, dumbstruck.

"Will you explain what is going on?" she demanded, suddenly irate. Her voice echoed dumbly in the tunnel. When he did not turn or stop, she followed after him. "How does Magic still exist? The 2912 royal edict on the Absolute Cessation of Magic―" Yes, cling to something. History still existed. It wasn't a lie!

"Does not apply, does it? How could it possibly be enforced?" Vaati actually laughed a little. "The intent was _kyure_," ―_courageous_, she knew without understanding how― "but foolhardy. The true users of Magic had long vanished, hiding in these _cavat_ waiting for their time to step onto the world's delicate stage once more. The royal court had no say in it."

"We could have used you during the Scission," Nabooru mumbled.

Vaati shot her a look over his shoulder, his red eyes momentarily arresting her again. "Some events…" He squinted a little in thought, as though seeking a better way to explain, then simply said, "… They are meant to occur. And these are long overdue."

"How do you know?" she asked, now truly annoyed.

"Follow me and I will show you."

She did. How long they walked, she wasn't sure. Her thoughts were in such turmoil she could make little sense of anything still. Now and then she saw _the Gerudo desert_ again, though she could not decide why. She wondered, now that she knew where Vaati was from, whether he was truly as power-hungry as legends said the Sheikah were. She had heard that some of the Sheikah had broken away from the rest of their brethren, living as faithful servants to Hyrule's royal family, but that was such ancient history she could hardly imagine any of them having thrived.

And if Magic existed, it would open so many paths―

Instantly, she felt shame wash over her. She had just considered bringing the news to Admiral Dragmire, thinking with relief of his enthusiasm at the news. Sands, no wonder Magic was banned; her first thought had been about its practical use in war!

No, as she was privy to this new secret, she would at least ensure that no harm was caused by it.

So, the Sheikah and Subrosians still existed― did the Kokiri really exist too?

Wind howled in the tunnels overhead, the Whispers now suddenly fascinating.

"Are the Whispers Magic too?"

"No… they are echoes of the past." Vaati's response was unsettling at best. "If one listens closely, they would hear the wars of the past, the great struggles, the catastrophes, the triumphs…"

"They sound familiar," she mused.

"To you, they would be." He seemed amused at an inner thought. She wanted to press him, but they suddenly arrived at the mouth of a large cavern, and all other thoughts fled her.

What made this cavern so amazing, aside from its size, which would easily house two of the Admiral's flagships with space to spare, was that no light source was necessary. The ceiling of the cavern had apparently collapsed ages ago and allowed natural light to pour in. The edges of the broken ceiling were covered in greenery.

But there wasn't much sunlight coming in because it was mostly halted by foliage. And all that foliage ―millions and millions of leaves― belonged to one, single, immense tree. The roots of the tree alone were as high as she was in diameter, and they dug into the earth massed at the bottom of the cavern in gnarly tendrils. In fact, the trunk of the tree was as large as a mansion, and it rose out of the cavern's collapsed expanse into the open air above ground, where it exploded into a canopy of sturdy, massive branches. On the edges of the hole, she saw more trees, though their size could never compare to that of the behemoth that seemingly ruled over them.

Where the cavern still had its roof, against the cave walls, some houses had been carved into the stone, the details and intricate patterns indicating a defined sense of art in their architecture.

"This is the _kin_ of Subrosia, and the scared grove of the Great Deku Tree," Vaati said, and she was certain there was profound respect in his voice.

And, for the first time in her life, Nabooru felt that there was something immense at stake.

Vaati beckoned for her to keep up. She followed him down. In the bottom of the cave, among the Deku Tree's roots, pools of clear water had massed, and she saw fish there, peaceful and well fed. There were ornaments in the lower branches of the Tree, lanterns, coloured stones. A simple cobblestone path lead close to the tree, and looking up, Nabooru swore it had a face, with thick brows.

"This is―"

"A guardian spirit."

"_Spirit…_"

Nabooru jumped. Vaati knelt before the tree reverently. She watched him with curiosity, still frazzled by the deep voice that had spoken just now. She wondered if he'd heard it, a voice so deep it seemed to rise from the confines of the earth beneath their feet, so old and ancient and strong.

She looked up at the tree. It looked so alive, so healthy, so full of natural strength, she almost understood that Vaati had knelt before it.

"_Spirit._"

There it was again. She glanced at Vaati, who merely raised a brow, smiling.

"Was that…" She looked back at the great tree, and felt a strange sense of awe overcome her. "… Did…"

"_Ja sodu esheyu, Huma ol Len_."

"I wasn't lost," she frowned, before realising that it was the _Tree_ talking, the Tree in its magnificence and power, the Tree, speaking through the earth, through its leaves, on the wind. She fell to her knees before it, and trembled as she said, "Gods have mercy, you are a talking tree."

Vaati actually laughed, the sound as alien as everything else had been that day.

"_Thy journey, Woman of Spirit_," there he called her that again, though she wasn't sure what it meant, "_was meant to take thou here. There is much still thou must learn._"

"Magic exists," Nabooru dumbly said, and almost berated herself for bumbling like an idiot. "Magic exists and Sheikah live and Subrosians can make fire from nothing."

The leaves overhead rustled, and the trees outside too, as though the whole forest laughed good-naturedly.

"_The others have a role to play_," the Tree said. "_They will need thou when the hour grows dire. Thou carry within their deepest sense of self, their very identity. Thou wilt know them when the time comes. Thou must bring them together. Hyrule's intricate weave of time needs their help._"

Though it spoke with the gentle breeze, she felt the rock-solid urgency in the Tree's command. And command it was, she knew, though so little of it made any sense.

She said as much. "I don't understand. The others?"

"_Light, Shadow, Fire, Water, and Time. The Child of the Forest is near. She knows the time draws close._ _Camada, Yula ol Arbuot, veda jan entera_."

Nabooru frowned. The last sentence, a summons, no less, an order to step forward, had not been aimed at her.

From the lower branches of the Tree, leaves rustled. A girl, indeed, a child, appeared from the boughs, wearing green and brown, the colours of the forest. She eyed Nabooru with contained wildness, then leaped down.

Instinctively, Nabooru stepped forward to break the girl's fall, but the child didn't need it. She landed smoothly, her small frame belying great agility and experience.

"_Entera_," she said, her high voice sounding like the call of a gentle animal. "A sister in purpose."

_Entera_. The word for sister. How did she know? How could she know? Nabooru eyed the girl in green and felt she knew her. "You are a Kokiri child, aren't you?"

For the first time, the girl's almost savage approach loosened into a smile. "The Kokiri are nothing but. I am Saria, Child of the Forest, and your sister in the coming storm. _Pri enter ih septe._"

One sibling in seven. Nabooru still couldn't shake the odd familiarity.

"We all have roles to play," Saria said, her hand resting comfortably against the Deku Tree's thick bark. Her young face was oddly lined with decades of wisdom, out of place wrinkles of laughs on a healthy skin. "But many have lost the Magic. They will need to remember."

"I didn't know Magic existed until just now," Nabooru said, sceptical. "How could I help if I don't even―"

"You are the Woman of Spirit," Saria said, and the corners of her eyes, already lined with crow's feet despite her young age crinkled. "You are the container for their memory. That is your purpose." She looked thoughtful, her short green hair moving in the playful wind. "Amongst others. Still, you hold the sense of self for the Lady of the Water, the Warrior of Fire, the Master of Shadows, the Priest of the Light, and, most crucially, the Sage of Time. Seven we were, seven we must be again."

"Who are they? Do you have names?"

"_Thou shalt know them when their awakening is necessary. … Vaati._"

Vaati stood imperceptibly straighter, though Nabooru wasn't sure the Deku Tree could know it. "Great Deku Tree."

"_Thou knowest the way the pieces must fall, and how the strings tie together. Go with Nabooru_."

"Of course, Great Deku Tree." Vaati's eyes darted to meet Nabooru's gaze, and she felt a heavy weight of knowledge press onto her. This man, who looked so young, was, as with all the other living things present here, ages older than she. She felt the debilitating awkwardness of ignorance, fearing it showed, fearing they saw through her. It certainly felt like it.

How could they think she was anything at all―

One of the Seven. She saw _the Medallion, felt its weight, knew who to entrust it to, but he was gone, for seven years he'd been gone, his soul so pure and courageous_―

And for a moment, she saw other things, things that were not hers. She saw _a deep blue lake_, and _a warm fire_, and _the cool shade of night_, and _smooth marble floors_. None of those things, she knew, were hers. She couldn't understand how. They were in her head, after all. By rights, they should be hers. But she knew, with a clarity unlike any other, that they were not hers to claim.

They called her the Woman of Spirit. What did that title imply?

"_Thou hast questions_," the Deku Tree, by some unlikely Magic ―well, of course it was Magic― guessed.

"Was all of this meant to be?" She didn't know why she asked this. It didn't seem the most important question right then. So many other things seemed to matter more. Like how she could go back to society and pretend Magic didn't still exist, and that hovercrafts still made sense, and that wars were the object of the peoples' desires, not the inevitable outcome of time's unravelling. How could she face the world with silence on her lips? How could she keep such a monumental secret without going insane? How could she accept the truth without question?

The way the leaves rustled, the way the branches overhead creaked, she could almost pretend the Deku Tree was smiling. "_Destiny. Thy query hath merit. Vaati, doth destiny exist?_"

It was odd that the Deku Tree turned to Vaati for answers. Vaati seemed to think so too, his red eyes going wide, caught inadvertently off-guard. He blinked a few times, then carefully said, "Hyrule's existence has… well-worn paths. Cycles Events re-occur in ways that can only be predicted by those who were… well…" He smiled almost sheepishly at Nabooru, in an expression that made her want to laugh. "Those who were there before."

"And you were there before."

"Vaati is the Wind Wanderer. He was once Sheikah, but now…" Saria furrowed a brow, then grinned. "He is not quite that anymore."

Vaati added nothing. He apparently did not like discussing himself.

"There are many things," Saria said, "that only time may reveal. Do not worry yourself with that which you do not yet understand."

Nabooru wasn't sure. She turned to Vaati. "You said… You said Admiral Dragmire had a role to play. What is his role? Is he one of those I must… um, speak to?"

Once again, Vaati's expression was schooled into one of careful indifference. Saria, on her part, was stony-faced. Even the wind slowed, and the Deku Tree's leaves rustled less.

"Time only can tell." Vaati's gaze fell to the water pools, and the fish.

"You're lying to me," Nabooru frowned. "You know something, but you're not telling me. Why? What is Admiral Dragmire's place in all this?"

"_Peace to your heart, child_," the Deku Tree soothingly said, his rumbling voice soft and cool as the soil he grew on. "_Even far-sighted creatures cannot see all ends_."

"So you're saying," Nabooru summed up, pursing her lips, "that you know he has a destiny, but you can't see what it is?"

"_Yai_," Vaati said. "For now, I feel we must follow through with his desires. If this purpose changes," he shot Saria a brief glance, which Nabooru definitely noticed, "I shall let you know."

"Changing his plans won't sit well with the Admiral," Nabooru said, and for a moment she felt a very mortal fear that, even in this haven of life and magic, the long reaching anger of the Guardian Admiral would take her. For a moment she saw fire raging in the clearing, she saw metal and blood where there ought to be earth and water. "He won't be happy," she said, shivering.

"Such is the nature of things," Saria said, her face still oddly impassive after the vivid wildness and sisterly comfort.

"Such is the nature of Ganondorf Dragmire," Nabooru said, feeling a mix of pride and terror stir in her gut. "He will not suffer traitors. I hope for all our sakes that this mysterious destiny does not drag us down that path. Or you can be certain, he will scour the land, wreaking destruction in his wake."

Vaati and Saria exchanged another stony look. Suddenly, Nabooru couldn't help but think that they knew this already, that they were bracing themselves for the coming storm.

A lump of lead plunged into her stomach. Sickeningly, she hoped they were senile.


	21. 2-4 - The Scryer

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 4: THE SCRYER**

* * *

><p><em>24<em>_th__ Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Holodrum, desert airspace<br>Gerudo desert border_

"Magic," Midna said.

Dark frowned. "What?"

"It exists. That's what nearly burned you in Samasa. It's what destroyed Ingo's workshop. It's Magic."

Dark snickered. "You sound awfully certain." He moved the Flit with a jolt. He was still refining his flight manoeuvres, but the ride was getting less bumpy by the hour. For the fifth time that day, he completed a round pattern around Arbiter's peak, a thin rock formation to the north of Samasa, part of the edge of the mountain chain dividing Holodrum from Twilight, dangerously close to the Gerudo province of Hyrule.

They were stalling because Midna hadn't decided what to do yet. She'd been stuck for several days. The hours passed with increasing frustration.

"I just…" Midna looked frustrated, and glared at him for his mockery. "I know most non-Twili have pushed their belief in the old ways to the far recesses of their minds, but what other explanation can you possibly find for it?" Her sharp gold eyes sought his, but he didn't look her way, focusing on a smooth bank to the left. "Dark."

"_What_?"

"Why aren't you reacting to this?"

"Because," Dark said, gritting his teeth as he pulled the Flit up and only jostled it twice, "I'm busy and it doesn't matter."

"What do you mean it doesn't matter?" Midna glared at him. "How do you plan on getting the Sol back if you don't even inquire about the weapons our enemy is carrying?"

"Look," Dark said, shooting her an annoyed glance. "I know we're pressed for time, and this Sol thing is a big deal where you're from, but none of your leads have given us any information on Mad's whereabouts, so until we find something, I'm going to keep practicing flight manoeuvres."

"I'm sure there must be a way," Midna said, her jaw clenched. She turned her angry stare to the landscape outside.

"If it's Magic, you can probably do some sort of voodoo echolocation thing and find Mad with your mental powers," Dark mocked. "Oh. Wait." He chuckled falsely. "Magic doesn't exist. My bad."

"Magic _does_ exist, you misinformed imbecile." It just hadn't been used to any grand scale in a long time. Midna pursed her lips and gazed at the sky, its soft blue perfectly detached. She didn't like daylight. "Or else why would it have been made illegal in 2912, with the Edict on the Absolute Cessation of Magic?"

"Five hundred years, dear," Dark said. "Texts from that period can't be relied on. I suppose you imagine dragons exist, too?" He scoffed. "It's called a metaphor."

"There's nothing metaphorical about living flame," Midna said, her anger reaching a breaking point. She leaned over the control panel dividing them, and snapped her fingers, a spark of fire igniting a few inches from his face.

Dark gave a jerk to the Flit's controls. "_What are you doing, woman_?" He shot her an outraged look, then caught his breath and said, as calmly as he could, "Fancy trick."

He didn't admit he believed, but he looked shaken.

Midna rolled her eyes, satisfied she'd at least elicited a reaction. "Magic is such an integral part of Twili culture, many scholars and aristocrats still learn it in secret, though never to the scale of our ancestors."

"You were once Sheikah," Dark said, conversationally. He was heading back to Samasa.

"No, I wasn't. I was born a Twili. But the Twili have evolved from the exiled Sheikah, yes."

"Do real Sheikah still exist? I heard they were power-hungry. A shame to lose determination like that."

"Knowledge-hungry, I should say," Midna corrected thoughtfully. "Knowledge is power, though." Something nagged at her. "You know, perhaps, with Magic being so rare these days, I could meditate…"

"Huh?" Dark raised a brow, looking confused.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. Echolocation, Dark had said. It wasn't quite that, but she'd heard of a meditation technique used by the elders that could stretch the soul and make Magic sources light up in the mind… She had never used it, primarily because the technique had lost its purpose a long time ago: when everyone used Magic, it was like trying to find a needle in a haystack. And then, when Magic had been banned, all rogue magi were accounted for, and kept under wraps.

But a Sol was a strong energy source, a power of Light Magic. She was familiar with it. Wherever the Sol was, she presumed, Zant would be there too.

"Can we land in the desert?" Midna asked.

Dark frowned. "Why?"

"I need a quiet, open place." She didn't know that she needed it, but at least a lack of distractions could only lend itself well to the exercise.

"What for?"

Annoyed with his perpetual questions, she said, "I'm going to look for him with meditation. Unless you have a better idea―"

"Yes, actually, how about we just let it go and go into hiding? Dragmire's not going to let us live this down."

She eyed him flatly. Dark sighed and shrugged, then smoothly turned towards the flat sandy expanses of the Samasa desert.

"Have you ever done this before?" Dark asked.

"If you can learn to fly, I don't see why not."

Dark scowled. Fine, no questions.

"I still don't really believe in Magic," he said. "Because if Magic works, then why am I bothering to fly this thing? We might as well just teleport."

"Your understanding of Magic is obviously lacking. For every action, there is a cost. Magic is an exchange of energies. Those attuned to a type of Magic can reap its benefits, but they must also accept that nothing is free. The Sheikah were banned for using others as sacrifices rather than accepting the consequences of their own usage. Most often, using Magic causes physical exhaustion. The more powerful spells, however, can cost life years, memories, or worse."

"Worse? Worse than giving away years of your life?"

"Think of the things you never worry about: your capacity for emotion, your sense of purpose―" Dark scoffed again, "―in some extreme cases, everything you are is taken, even the impact you made on the world, the memory people had of you, your very footsteps in the sand are all but washed away. Such is the ultimate sacrifice."

"Why would anyone give away everything they ever were? What could they gain from it?"

Midna hesitated, and he glanced her way. At length, she said, "Love makes people do brash things. Magic is an equal exchange of energies. A life for a life."

Realisation dawned on Dark's face. His mouth formed a soundless 'oh', and he turned away. With a careful, uncertain movement, he reared the Flit, and its landing skids sunk in the sand with a thump.

When he slid the door open, the heat of day hit them brutally. In the sky, the heat was never so harsh. On the ocean, he was always comfortable. Here, he hated Midna's decision.

Even Midna seemed to wonder about the wisdom of her choice. Still, she hopped out of the Flit into the yellow sand and took a few steps. After a moment, she said, "This will have to do."

He grimaced. "At least sit in the shade of the Flit."

She smiled, and he tried not to think about kissing her, because he had better things to do, and because if he really stopped to think about the last time, he wouldn't be very professional.

But damn it, the princess of Twilight! That was a high score, as kisses went. Probably.

Plus, she was still wearing her usual Twili garb: that black dress with slits up her thighs, like she didn't know what that looked like.

He scowled and went back to the cockpit to check oil gauges and attempt to be useful. So she'd kissed him in relief, and probably because of the adrenaline. He'd been quite pumped up himself.

He saw her making her way to the side of the Flit where the machine cast a blue shadow on the sand, and sit cross-legged there, and shut her eyes.

Magic. Huh.

Part of him wondered at the 'ultimate sacrifice'. It still boggled his mind. Why? Why couldn't a person accept that their loved ones were dead and move on? He'd never cared about anyone nearly enough to die in exchange for their life. What was the big deal?

Although, to be fair, he had never much cared about _anything_. Nabooru was a good friend. And Aveil was a good lay. With no family or particular history, with no motivation, it was hard to imagine caring so much about anything at all.

But Midna cared. He found his eyes fixed to the soft lines of her face, the tone of her skin as she sat in the shade. Almost blue, she was so pale. Midna cared a lot more than he could recommend. Her rule was slipping away and she still tried to keep a hold on it just because she didn't trust the new guy.

That said, anyone who trusted Mad Zant Grim was in dire need of a nasty wake-up call.

Suddenly, Midna began to glow with a dark purple light, as though she were sucking the light out of her surroundings. Dark blinked to make sure he wasn't going insane.

"Midna―"

"Don't distract me," she nearly hissed, without opening her eyes.

"I'm not sure that you―"

"It's Shadow Magic. Shut up now." The command was final.

Damn.

Midna, on her part, was barely beginning to focus. She was, in a way, glad that Dark had confirmed she could work her Magic, even with the amount of light around her. It was a complex procedure she'd imagined ―taking the surrounding Light to feed her Shadow, and then darkening her consciousness until all Light Magic became a pinpoint of brightness.

She had no idea how far she would See. That she had gotten any result thus far was encouraging, but Zant wouldn't have lingered in the area. He was most likely far away. At least he would not take any particular precautions to hide the Sol from her perception ― he wouldn't assume she could find him this way. Few Twili still spoke of the old rites, their antiquated methods considered unhelpful.

She started with her immediate surroundings, mapping the energies around her. They appeared like bright spots of force in her mind's eye: the blinding yellow of Light was overwhelming, especially, but here and there she saw the green of life granted by Forest Magic, scurrying like beetles across the sand, and the cool, comforting purple of her created Shadow. She saw little blue, but the red of Fire and earth was a steady presence below her. She tuned out the constant hum of Time, less of a colour and more of a silent throb.

Behind her, she felt Dark, a mix of Spirit orange and life green, his pools of Water untapped and dormant, with a spot of Shadow she hadn't expected to feel. It shifted from red to purple, with some blue. She could not interpret its meaning ―a person's emotions would not be easy to understand this early on― but she was glad to recognize that she saw them, at least.

Right, then. She opened her mind to encompass the desert. Already the exercise became difficult. The information drowned her mind. She felt it was like trying to stop a river with a sheet of paper ―bold but pointless.

Fighting the anticipation of failure, she pressed on. She tried to keep her Sight on the red and purple Twilight mountains, stretched her thoughts to touch Samasa, a place of red and orange, a place filled with exhausting emotion signatures. She knew Zant was not there, and felt the relief of letting Samasa slip from her attention.

Instead, she pushed her mind towards Twilight, and the cooling Shadow of the kingdom was like a balm. It centered her focus, made it easier to hold all the Magic within sight. She sought Nightfall, her beloved city, with its powerful Shadow and Fire. Here, the Light was dimmer, less of a blinding force.

It was pure luck that she suddenly noticed the pinpoint she was looking for. At first she nearly overlooked it. There were only two Sols in the world that she knew of, one of which was constantly in Nightfall, powering the city's core.

The other circulated as needed, a traveling resource.

But it was there. There were two brilliant Light sources in Nightfall where there should have been only one. The first was within the Nightfall palace, where it ought to be. The second was… in the Docking Bay.

Zant had stopped by Nightfall, and the Sol was with him!

Snapping out of her trance, Midna nearly lost consciousness.

The light around her had changed; the shadows were longer. At her side, Dark was taking a nap. He snapped awake at her sudden gasp.

"Whoa!" He was on his feet within seconds, and at her side in less than two. "Hey, you're back. I was beginning to think I should make camp."

She blinked, sudden exhaustion causing nausea she hadn't expected. She croaked, "How long was I… away?"

He pursed his lips in thought, then estimated, "Two hours? Maybe three?"

She tried to stand, but wavered. He reached out to steady her. "Hey, easy there."

"The Sol is in Nightfall. We have to hurry!"

"You found it?" His incredulity would have been insulting if she hadn't lost all her energy and wasn't about to faint.

"Yes," she croaked. "Please, let's get going. We're six hours away from Nightfall if we hurry. We must make it before he leaves again."

She stumbled. He caught her again.

"Fine," he grumbled. "But you need to rest. And maybe eat. Maybe not in that order. Come on." He helped her into the Flit. "I'll make a detour by Samasa to buy fuel ―don't whine, we won't make it otherwise― but you're going to sleep."

"You know your way?" Midna asked, feeling sleep overtake her as he helped her into the bunk in the back of the Flit.

"I'm not stupid," Dark growled. "Honestly, you'd think you would have more faith in me after I've come through for you so many times―"

But the moment her head touched the pillow, she was out like a light, breathing even and regular.

Self-consciously, Dark stepped back, feeling awkward. He hesitated for a moment, then leaned down and kissed her brow, almost in defiance. Then, on second thought, it seemed so right to ease the tension he saw there, the worry and apprehension she wore every day.

The smell of her warm skin, the soft, faintly sweet scent of her hair, and the warmth…

He stepped back, a shiver running down his spine. Witch.

With one decided stride, he distanced himself, and only checked her resting face twice. He'd done worse. Surely, he had. There was work to be done, things to take care of. This, at least, he could do for her.

A moment later, he shut his eyes, his mind reeling with comprehension.

Seas. The ultimate sacrifice. For the briefest and most terrifying moments, he'd understood its existence and meaning, and, with a pit of horror, his own purpose. He shook it off, and tried to forget.

He tried to forget that, as far as he, Dark Knight, knew, the ultimate sacrifice looked uncomfortably like princess Midna Black.


	22. 2-5 - The Passengers

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 5: THE PASSENGERS**

* * *

><p><em>24<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall airspace<br>Over the ocean_

The wind was strong ―it always was, so low over the ocean― but at least the sky was clear. The sun was low, but with their flight direction it was almost behind them.

They had entered Windfall airspace forty-five minutes ago, but they were still a while away from the island city. Far below them, Hylian Alliance battleships and cargo ships broke the waves. For good measure, Malon had input Alliance recognition codes into the emitter, ensuring no friendly fire would take down her civilian airship. Overheard, zipping past them without paying them any heed, whole Flit squadrons practised manoeuvres.

Link executed a smooth bank to get out of military airspace. To his right, Colin was passively keeping an eye on the radar screen. The flight assistance tools were civilian issue, but top-notch, and nothing unusual had shown up. Windfall was still a quarter hour away, a dot on the horizon.

"We were right," Zelda said to Shad behind Link. The advantage of Malon's airship was that there was enough seating for everyone near the cockpit. The princess had the privilege of using the delayed-connection onboard computer. It contained little information, but with Shad's help she had sent outgoing requests for Castleton library data, and had begun to receive some minor reports on the events in Waker. Few confidential dossiers ever were uploaded to the electronic library, but the troop provisions and supplies from the day before were partially there.

Shad had grumbled at the ease with which he'd managed to set up the system. Sheik had asked whether it could explain their defeat in the Gerudo desert, but Shad didn't think so.

The battle in Gerudo had been a last ditch effort to stop the advance of the enemy; updates wouldn't have been obtained in time by either side. Impa Shades was sole responsible for the defeat.

Sheik and Link had exchanged looks, but said nothing. Malon had risked, "I don't think blaming one general will explain the situation. Anyhow, it's not a lost frontier, right?"

"It's a stalemate. Impa Shades set up in the canyon; it's a defensible position, but leaving it and reclaiming terrain will be difficult." It was the case all along the Hyrulian border, meaning most troops were locked up.

The conversation had ended then.

Shad leaned to look at the screen on Zelda's side. "Right?"

"We were right," she repeated. "Waker really seems like the next target. The local troops are preparing for what looks like open assault and delayed reports have reached Castleton. I must presume Auru Mages will send some of ours to support Waker's army."

"Will they be here in time?" Shad pondered, not expecting an answer. Zelda couldn't provide one.

"If I may," Malon began, "why did her majesty wish to come here? I don't think it's very safe for you." She eyed the battleships below with some anxiety.

"I want to rally the troops. If Waker falls, there will be nothing to stop the Guardian Coalition from completely surrounding Hyrule. Termina doesn't have a substantial army, and Minish is already contending with token armies descending from Calatia…" Zelda took a breath.

In the silence, they understood: she couldn't do anything, but she had to fight, nonetheless. Malon instinctively reached out to pat the princess' hand then stopped herself. Zelda smiled with gratitude at the motion, but did not move.

Link said nothing. Colin eyed him, and saw Sheik's matching stony gaze.

"You're worried about your family," Colin said, as quietly as the engine noise allowed.

Sheik shot Link a look, and something in his eyes ―concern, it seemed― sought comfort. Link's face mirrored the sentiment. "Outset was evacuated three weeks ago. I don't have reason to think something bad happened to them. Still…"

"Where were they evacuated to?"

"Windfall, hopefully," Link smiled, the smile not reaching his eyes.

"―_Windfall traffic control. Approaching Alliance airship, identify yourself. Civilian flights are not authorized in this zone._"

The crackling sound surprised them. Link picked up the headset and shot the princess an inquiring look. She nodded.

With renewed confidence, Link announced, "Windfall traffic control. This is Captain Link Forester from Impa Shades' command, I have Princess Zelda Harkinian of Hyrule on board, requesting permission to enter immediate airspace."

There was a moment of radio silence. Link, Colin and Sheik exchanged looks. Then, a different voice, female and curt, took over. "_Approach slowly. Any suspicious activity will make us gun you down. You may land at B-pad, on the northwest peninsula. Be ready to show identification._"

The connection crackled off, but Link knew their movements were monitored. The tension among his passengers was tangible. Even Wulf, who lay quietly on the floor, let out a low whine.

Malon, concerned, eyed the others. Then, noticing Kidd's unusual downcast frown, she leaned towards him.

"What's the matter? We'll be fine."

Kidd didn't seem to expect her question. He had been scratching Wulf's ears comfortingly. His eyes shot up to hers, almost guiltily. When she furrowed a brow in question, he grinned and shook his head.

"You never told me why you're tagging along," Malon said, all friendly smiles.

Kidd shrugged. "I'm looking for someone. My brother."

"Is he in Waker?" Malon asked.

"I don't know," Kidd said, evasively. "I'll see."

Malon watched him look at the countless war machines floating and flying out of the cockpit window, and wasn't sure how to interpret his obvious worry.

"What's your last name?"

Kidd shrugged. "It's not important."

Malon frowned. "Well, if you're looking for―"

"I just need a lift," Kidd interrupted her. "The others don't expect anything from me either." With one nod of his chin, he indicated Link and his crewmates. "Don't worry about me."

The City in the Sky mechanic's pretty face contorted into a pout, but she added nothing. With a thoughtful look out the window, she settled back into her seat and wondered at the orphans made by war.

Her own reflection in the glass stared back. She averted her gaze and focused on the island of Windfall growing in front of the airship.

The Red Lion had integrated guns, but they packed little firepower and were mostly for show. She had locked them for the flight over. At least, they wouldn't accidentally drop into view, alarming the Windfall traffic controllers.

Her eyes fell on Link Forester's mechanic, Sheik. He wasn't worrying about fuel and parts, for once, and still he had a grease stain on the edge of his jaw. He was a serious man, but kind, and skilled. She teased him, but his knowledge and capacity for improvisation had helped her spare parts she might have wasted, not to mention he had an uncanny memory for technical plans. In the end, it was lack of time alone that prevented him from repairing his own Flit. Still, she'd put it in storage and promised to help him repair it in due time.

She really hoped they went back to it one day.

The harsh likelihood of death increased with every minute they spent in Waker. If Waker was to be the decisive battlefield, she didn't particularly want to be there.

Still, these men ―Malon eyed Colin, and thought he looked so young to be so old― hadn't hesitated to help the princess of Hyrule into the archipelago, and their dedication was contagious.

As for the princess… well, dedication seemed a curse.

Zelda avoided Shad's concerned gaze when he turned to her. Somehow, her oldest friend would be of little comfort, she knew. The days to come would most likely be exhausting, with more sleepless nights than she preferred, and she felt a weight on her shoulders, the great burden of responsibility.

Regardless of the outcome, the people would count on her…

She glanced down at her notes. Her list of allies seemed to thin out with every death.

What upset her the most was the defection of her fellow rulers. In most cases, she had considered them close acquaintances, if not friends. That they should leave with a vague explanation at best had come as a surprise. The pain she'd felt at the thought that they'd hidden their dissent so long was soon overshadowed by incomprehension. _Why_?

Why had they left the Hylian Alliance on such short notice, and without any explanation to speak of?

Queen Ambi had been the first to leave. She'd always been a soft-spoken woman whose strong ancestors had granted her a kingdom she hardly had the willpower to rule over. Zelda had rationalised that she'd perhaps been swayed by idealistic talk, but she wasn't sure. Labrynna had simply stopped responding to appeals from the Hylian Alliance, and Queen Ambi, who had been such a sweet, friendly figure for Zelda, had easily fallen out of touch.

There was talk that Queen Ambi's personal assistant, some woman named Veran Broken, had all the strength and volition Ambi did not, and that she was really the one pulling the strings, but Zelda tried not to trust rumours, though it was the only thing she had akin to an explanation.

Onox Gorgon of Holodrum's defection, however, hadn't been much of a surprise. Always hungry for action, the man had shown a lot of sympathy for Ganondorf Dragmire's desire to protect the world's future through military strength. He and Zelda hadn't always seen eye to eye, and though it was insulting, his defection was the only one she fully understood.

Komali Wings, heir of Waker Skies, was a young, impetuous Rito, probably swayed by promises of power. He wasn't a bad ruler and his people loved him. Renado had suggested it was simply a misguided attempt to reach higher than his station, a childish mistake.

It was believable, but still, _who _had put those ideas into the young prince's mind?

Midna Black hadn't even sent a letter. She'd just cut off communications with the rest of the Hylian Alliance. Her meaning couldn't have been clearer. Midna's change of heart had been like a stab to Zelda's. Midna was, for lack of a better word, the ideal of confidence and strength that Zelda struggled to emulate. Her country's new distance had swept the carpet from under Zelda's feet.

Queen Seline of Calatia's change of sides was inexplicable, as was Ruto Watters'. Both women had been kind and good, with open hearts and clear minds. Their behaviour had changed in the weeks following the first defections, until at last Seline had hastily excused herself from the Hyrulian court and escaped to Calatia, beyond the Death Mountain range, blocking the mountain passes behind her, without any explanation.

Ruto Watters was an aristocrat of the Lanayru province, the princess hailing from Zora's Domain, a Zora beauty with wit and class. Zelda remembered her drawn, tired traits in the month before she announced her support for the Guardian Coalition. None of Zelda's concerned questions had yielded an explanation for Ruto's actions. Ruto Watters had nowhere to run to, and with Twilight's new silence, she was the last straw. The remaining rulers and members of the aristocracy had lashed out at Ruto, stripping her of all her titles and lands.

In hindsight, it had been a mistake.

Perhaps Ruto knew it, too. Her tears had been genuine at the time, and had warned them that they were making a grave mistake. The others, and even Zelda, had misunderstood her meaning, thinking she was being arrogant and petty in her defeat.

Ganondorf Dragmire and his new allies, perhaps rightly so, had latched on to Ruto's fall from grace as a symbol, and had declared the Scission. The war had begun.

Zelda closed her eyes tightly. Skies help her, something immense had happened to half the rulers of the Hylian Alliance. She was beginning to suspect they had known something they didn't share.

But why wouldn't they have told her so? She was to become the empress of Hylia, to guide them when they judged her ready. She had so wanted to serve them, to be the resource they needed…

She eyed the names she'd scribbled in her notes. Onox Gorgon was an aggressive ruler. Promises of an exciting war would have been enough to rouse the general out of his ennui. Komali Wings was naïve and eager to be strong. He would easily be swayed by promises of grandeur. It wasn't Midna's type to leave without a word to her sister in role, but she'd complained of her people choice for the Twilight Artificial Design, and Zelda suspected that Midna hadn't been as free to choose her country's alignment as she ought to have been. Ambi was too weak to fight off strong suggestion, and this Veran, her assistant, had probably sunk her claws into the true seat of power. Queen Seline and Ruto, for their part, had been coerced somehow. Zelda believed it more, the more she thought about it, especially given that Ruto hadn't fought back and Calatia had never sent its own troops into Hyrule, despite controlling the mountain passes. Holodrum's armies had come through, as had a few Twili skirmishes, all firmly pushed back.

The enemy breakdown was overwhelmingly provided by Holodrum, Waker Skies and Labrynna, with only token participation from Calatia and Twilight. The northern countries, it seemed, preferred not to get too involved, and Zelda was extremely grateful for the break.

Perhaps, she thought, she still had friends on the other side.

It was too little to rely on, however, and she hoped they didn't attack Hyrule while she was gone.

Windfall was now large and detailed below them. Where once it had been a trading harbour in the middle of the ocean, a place for travelers to find dry land and safety from storms, it had become one of Waker's most thriving cities. Its harbour was still active, but the airport was equally significant in the comings and goings of the island. The people of Waker Sea answered to the graceful and wise Queen Rutela, the Zora daughter of the deceased Queen Laruto. Rutela had a teenage son, prince Ralis, a handsome example of Zora nobility. He was soft spoken and well-meaning, and overwhelmed by the war.

But then, weren't they all?

Link slowed the Flit to a near hover, inching to a position on the landing platform. The airship wasn't the only one there. Dozens flew overhead in a dizzying example of coordination and skill. Many were parked for repairs and maintenance in the airfield. Zelda recognized the naval battleship _Lanayru_ off the Windfall coast, serving as an additional landing area for Flits.

Waker Sea was also the previous location of the Rito's home island, Dragon Roost, with its volcano and its cove-harbour. Earlier in the war, however, Windfall had sent its naval army to take the large island by force, capturing the landmass almost by surprise. It now belonged to the Waker Sea army, and the Rito loyal to Komali Wings ―who, oddly, hadn't been with his people at the time― had escaped on the airship _Kargoroc_, the battleship _Octorok_, along with a small army's worth of smaller ships and a few submarines. A few hours earlier, Waker Sea troops mourned, and they'd have secured those ships too.

There was no point looking back, however. The Rito had lost their haven, which was a victory in itself. They'd retreated to the Waker Skies held islands in the west, though their exact location was uncertain. Intelligence reports suggested the lush Diamond Steppe Island, the fortified Islet of Steel, or perhaps the cove at Horseshoe Isle. Holodrum had supposedly installed a fortified base somewhere in the western ocean, off the shores of Labrynna, but spies hadn't spotted it.

The only major report from the west had been about Great Fish's destruction. Devastated, it was said. The home island of the Zoras had been utterly razed, survivors shot. Contradictory stories said the inhabitants hadn't been given a chance to surrender, or perhaps that they had refused to.

The blow had been particularly hard on Rutela, who had been in Windfall for strategic discussions.

The destruction at Great Fish had been the last report Zelda had gotten, too. It seemed so long ago that she was in the Citadel, receiving a report on Waker's troubles. As the Flit's engines stopped and soldiers neared the airship, Zelda shook herself out of her thoughts.

It was time to be regal. She was here to help.

As she stepped out onto the sunset-lit landing pad, Link lending her a hand, she felt a renewed sense of purpose. If anything could be done, she'd do it.

She was instantly offered a handshake. The woman on the end of it was smiling with the confidence only intelligence and looks could bring. In many ways, Zelda thought, this woman looked a lot like her: blonde, thin, large blue eyes, but darker skinned, and happier.

"Your highness. Tetra Pirates, at your service. You'll excuse the security measures." She motioned to the armed men accompanying her. They looked strong and dangerous with their weapons, but smiled when they noticed her look. "I wasn't sure you were, you know, the real you."

The ease with which Tetra Pirates spoke convinced Zelda to shake her hand in return, warmly. "I understand." She looked up at Windmill Tower, the center of Waker Sea's command, and asked, "Is Queen Rutela available?"

"We'll make sure she is," Tetra nodded. She motioned to the men to check Zelda's companions' papers. "I wasn't told you were coming." There was no reproach in her tone, only curiosity.

"I wasn't sure I'd make it," she explained, ruefully.

Tetra nodded. "Perhaps it's safer that way. We've found a few spies among us, and I can't guarantee they've all been found out. Make sure you speak only to those you trust."

"Is the situation under control?"

"Somewhat. There is talk of an invasion preparing itself, but none of the enemy armies we've located seem large enough. I suspect they're hiding the bulk of the army _somewhere_, but none of our leads has helped us." Tetra Pirates turned to the others.

The soldiers were courteous, but swift. They saw the military issue of Link, Colin and Sheik's papers and let them through without question. Malon and Shad's civilian papers required their signature on a census report, whereas Kidd's basic identity tags forced him to sign up for a temporary visa. Wulf wasn't examined.

"What is your role here, Mrs. Pirates?" Shad asked, at last free to follow them.

"Military operations are handled by Ashei Snow, I work for her. Ashei answers directly to Rutela, whom I also assist, on occasion."

"I'm sure you mean _Queen _Rutela," Shad politely said.

Tetra shot the blonde captain and his mechanic an interesting look, then said, to the aristocrat, "I do. We don't use titles much in Waker. Rutela is comfortable with this custom. Or haven't the locals told you?"

Link and Sheik shot her rueful grins. Most Waker inhabitants shared her tanned skin and blonde hair ―her guess on their citizenship was accurate. Tetra smirked.

Shad pursed his lips. "I had heard of Waker customs, but did not expect them to be so liberally applied." He turned to Zelda and added, "Of course, I would not dare speak for the princess."

Zelda smiled and, for the benefit of a smiling Tetra and to comfort Shad, she said, "When in the home of a friend…" She left the saying unfinished, and placed her arm in Shad's regally. "It may do me some good, besides, to be on first name basis with Rutela's people. We mustn't forget our purpose."

Though the message was a reprimand for Shad's somewhat uptight upbringing, her tone told him he hadn't harmed any sensibilities.

"Overseer Tetra―" Link spoke up.

Tetra turned, and noticed the captain's eyes fixed on the princess, looking upset, as though he disliked her arm being entwined with the aristocrat's. Interesting. "Yes?"

"Are there records of survivors and refugees somewhere?"

At this, Zelda shot them a look over her shoulder, slowing down. The captain noticed, but avoided the princess' gaze. It was odd how, despite his low rank and rather quiet crew, the captain seemed to command the princess' attention. Shad Knowing observed this with a fleeting frown, hardly noticeable it was so brief. Often admired for her sharp observation skills, Tetra didn't miss it either.

To Link, she said, "In the town hall you'll find the locations of refugee hubs." Her good humour was dampened somewhat. "You're not a native of Windfall, then?"

"Outset, in the south. I understand they were evacuated when things became heated."

"Yes." Tetra cocked her head curiously. "There weren't that many refugees. Hardly four dozen, and most of them have joined the civilian resistance."

"I'm sorry, civilian resistance?" Sheik spoke up. He was evidently uncomfortable with the sudden looks he received, but Tetra didn't mind.

"An initiative from Ashei Snow. She saw the people were harbouring a passionate patriotism that would otherwise waste away to anger and civilian violence. She figured the people of Waker Sea would be better served if they channelled their energy on serving the nation. So she had some civilians promoted to honorary captains: young people, old people, it doesn't matter where they're from or what they did before the war. The movement supplies the country, governs itself practically on its own while Rutela is busy, and has given the civilian population a guidance and feeling of unity no army could provide."

"That's brilliant," Shad admitted, almost begrudgingly, as though he regretted not thinking of something similar himself. Zelda smiled.

Link clicked his heels, eyes on the princess.

"If it's alright, then, your highness…" He took a deep breath. "I ask for dismissal."

Tetra saw a flash of inexplicable hurt in the captain's eyes then. If it hadn't been so completely unlikely, she'd have presumed he was sad to leave the pretty royal.

But then, perhaps the sudden and subtle panic in the princess' face gave her more reason than logic allowed. Tetra watched, quietly amazed, as the beautiful, young and incredibly tired princess of Hyrule released the arm of her aristocrat friend and paused, looking at the handsome Waker captain with dismay concealed under a semblance of royalty.

Perhaps, if Tetra was allowed to presume, the princess and the captain had bonded despite themselves. Infatuation typically worked that way, the Overseer considered with amusement.

Still. What a waste…

"I…" Zelda started, unsure. "Well, yes. Yes, of course. I suppose… I suppose we―" She shot Shad an uncertain glance and, finding little help there, turned back to Link, her eyes filled with more life than her sallow skin could ever show, and her cheeks unexpectedly flushed with colour, "I suppose we don't need a military escort from now on."

Captain Link― he had a really handsome face, and Tetra bet he smiled often, in ordinary circumstances― was as stony-faced as a golem. He lowered his intelligent blue eyes to the ground and said, "Yes, you are in good hands."

Zelda nodded mutely. It was odd how unlike a princess she seemed now, and the boy that followed the captain's crew, and the redhead beauty who also tagged along, and Shad Knowing, along with anyone with the sense to witness this momentous event, looked uncomfortable on her behalf. "I hope you find your family. I'll work very hard for their sake as well."

Link nodded in turn, then shot her a bright grin, one that undoubtedly reflected his true nature, "I'll hold you to it." He hesitated, as though wondering whether it was the right thing to say. He looked as though he meant to add something else, then shut his mouth, nodded, bowed somewhat, and turned to walk away. His mechanic, his navigator, the redhead and the boy awkwardly nodded respectfully as well, ready to leave the airfield.

"Captain Forester― Link―" Zelda suddenly called out, and Link looked back attentively, "I may contact you again for transportation, if that's alright."

Surprised and pleased, the captain smiled. "It would be an honour."

In the dying daylight, Tetra watched the captain walk away with his motley crew of companions, amused with the thought that the princess of Hyrule perhaps had finally tasted how life was meant to feel, and would fight all the harder to taste it again.


	23. 2-6 - The Swordsmen

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 6: THE SWORDSMEN**

* * *

><p><em>25<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Termina, Ikana Canyon<br>Palace Catacombs_

The crumbling ruins of Ikana City had been crumbling for centuries already. Deeply carved into the rock faces of Ikana Canyon, it had been old even in the first millennia of Hylia's history, back when Magic was a fact. The first records of Ikana City's existence dated back to the middle of the second millennia, during the Sheikah regency. It was unclear how long the city had been there, shielded from the brunt of the elements, but its last inhabitants had been the power-hungry Shadow Folk, and its last ruler, King Igos.

"King _Igos du Ikana_," Vaati calmly explained, his voice echoing against the rock faces, "was as corrupted in life as all of his subjects combined. The _Perdi Lent_," Lost Souls― Vaati referred that way to the Sheikah who had lost their way to greed and Shadow Magic, and Nabooru wondered if he counted himself as one of the Sheikah anymore at all, "used Ikana City as a… haven to pursue Shadow Magic without interference. Shadow Magic," he explained, "is one of illusion and deceit, and the main house of death. While it can be used to conceal and protect ―and _yai_, it has been used for that purpose often― the power it granted was… _is_ highly enticing. You have no idea how many poor souls were sacrificed for _entelli_." Knowledge. Nabooru grimaced. "It twisted the essence of the Sheikah, made them dependant on Magic."

Nabooru pursed her lips. Through a fissure in the rocky ceiling, she thought she saw a great hall. It was otherwise damp and gloomy in the catacombs.

"Isn't that what turned them into the Twili?" She cautiously asked, lowering her head to avoid hitting a low doorjamb.

"_Yai_." Vaati did not linger on the subject of the Twili, but Nabooru didn't sense any particular resentment of the subject on his part. "The last few Sheikah who had not fallen to darkness―" He said _nelusce_, though, the 'absence of light'― "when the Sheikah regency crumbled and the _Perdi Lent_ were exiled, those are the one who swore fealty to the Hylian _kin_." He looked over his shoulder at the red-headed Gerudo following him. "The rest, _mahyenvu_," ― 'most rightly', Nabooru understood, and marvelled at the elegant words― "is _historia_."

"You haven't been out into the big world in a long time," Nabooru observed. "Your use of the Hylian language is dated." She smiled, to signify teasing. She wasn't sure how susceptible Vaati would be on the topic.

A rare smile pulled at the Wind Wanderer's lips weakly. "I have waited for the moment to step back into the world. My exposure to the Hylian _parla_ was limited."

"Why?" It was one of Nabooru's main sources of confusion. Why had Vaati waited in the Subrosian caves for ―she'd estimated― decades? "It's not like the people are attacking the Sheikah or Twili anymore." She hesitated. "Well, I mean, before the war."

Vaati looked very much like he didn't want to talk about it, but Nabooru considered it a sign of fellowship when he formed an answer anyway. "I am the Wind Wanderer. My role is to play the part the world needs me to play. In the past, I have been a force of _yenvu_," ― 'good'― "and I have been, on many an occasion, a force of _brovu_." Evil.

Warily, and despite herself, Nabooru dredged on. "What kind of evil?"

"The spur of change," Vaati tiredly answered, his old accent making his words musical, "is often caused by a people uniting against a common foe. Those were not my favourite times."

"And what role are you playing now?" Nabooru asked, almost fearing the answer.

Vaati turned his unsettling red eyes on her, and smiled, two canines showing. "_Capacida respanto tas enterri?_"

Ruefully, Nabooru smiled, and shook her head. "No, you're right. I can't answer that question myself."

Vaati nodded. "Time is a judge unlike any other. You are on a journey to discover that. When you recover your entire self, you will have a broader sight."

A thought occurred to her. "If I understood this properly, I have to find out about some form of past life and guide others to theirs. Did you know me in that life?"

"Not personally, _nonn_."

"Oh." Nabooru felt a little nauseous, her mind working hard to piece what fragments she had recollected into something that made sense, and failing. "I don't remember anything about you either."

"One of your former acquaintances knew me." If she expected details, she didn't receive them. They walked out of the ruins and onto a public plaza overrun by wild weeds and dried trees. The remains of a house, which seemed more recent than the rest of the ruins and which must have long ago been painted brightly, was now collapsed and timeworn. After spending so much time in the caves, Nabooru almost staggered with relief. It was late afternoon, and the sun hovered in the west. To the northeast, the desolate and eerie shape of three immense hive-like towers rose over the cliffs and rock and ruins, an impregnable fortress that seemed to defy time itself, shining dimly in the late sun.

It was not towards the stone towers that Vaati walked, however. He instead turned to the brightly coloured ruin of Ikana palace, where a massive gate stood agape, the doors cracked, the ground covered in debris. It was apparently a new fracture, because no plants had grown in the rubble yet, and a cloud of dust had sprinkled onto the nearby surfaces.

Vaati's eyes narrowed. "It seems your contact has preceded you."

The gates of Ikana palace had been thick stone doors. No normal battering ram would have been able to destroy the slabs, and certainly not with such extreme force. It was incredible that a structure so ancient had been pulverized so easily.

Vaati didn't seem happy about it.

Taking the initiative, Nabooru preceded him, picking her way through the rubble and into the vast palace courtyard.

"You're late." The voice was calm, almost melodic, and it carried a note of aggression that chilled her to the bone.

Vaati found the speaker first, and he swiftly drew his sword. It belatedly occurred to Nabooru that she was bereft of any weapons, her arsenal lost somewhere in the deep pits of the Whispering Caves, to forever be guarded by the terrible Stallord. She desperately missed her pistol then.

Frantically, she searched for the man her Admiral had sent her to meet, her stomach twisting at the thought that, had he not been on her side, she'd be dead thrice already.

At last, she found the man. He was sitting on the top of one of the pillars that still stood around the courtyard, staring down at the two of them with an expression of contempt. Pale, with white hair neatly parted over a young, aristocratic face, he wore a red cloak and white gloves.

To her contact, she asked, "Excuse me, are you… Are you Ghirahim?"

Vaati lowered his sword, but Nabooru noticed a fleeting look of annoyance on his features. He mumbled something inaudible.

While the dark eyes of the contact had been fixed with mild interest on Vaati until then, they jumped to her disconcertingly fast. Awarding her a quick once-over, he licked his lips and said, "You may call me Lord Ghirahim. The Admiral does."

"_Nentellie…_" Vaati grumbled under his breath, and Nabooru ignored the comment on Ghirahim's intelligence... or lack thereof. Vaati didn't seem to care. "_Nesinya lent necessida axeli dereg_…" Nabooru tried hard not to react, but his grumbling made her think of an old man, complaining about the young and the senseless needing a swift mercy kill, and, coming from him, it was extremely amusing.

"I was told you'd come here alone," Ghirahim said, his voice carrying clearly. He nodded at Vaati. "Inviting him to a private party just isn't good manners."

"It is not very private if just anyone can walk right through the front door," Vaati finally observed in his unusual lilt, motioning to the rubble and destruction of the gate.

Ghirahim's eyes flicked over to the ruin and an impish smile stretched his lips. "Ah, yes. Well, I was bored. You were late. I ran some… tests."

He motioned to a heap of rusted metal that Nabooru hadn't particularly paid attention to until then. It lay in a shapeless pile on the ground, but on closer observation, looked a lot like a giant ram, or perhaps a giant bull, prone and lifeless.

"What is that?" Nabooru asked, taking a step forward.

Ghirahim laughed, a high sound that held no warmth. He lunged down from his perch, prompting Vaati to twitch in readiness again, and gestured elegantly to the pile of metal. "You don't even recognize it? After you came all this way to take it with you?"

Nabooru shot her contact an annoyed glare. "I came all this way, lost most of my material, and risked dying underground, all for a heap of scrapped, rusty metal?" To be fair, it was a large pile of scrap metal, but still.

Ghirahim stopped laughing. "Insolent girl. You have no appreciation for power. This," he motioned to the pile of rusty, damaged metal, "is the all-powerful Mechanical Bull, Goht, raised by me, from the confines of the Snowhead ruins."

She pursed her lips. "It doesn't look all-powerful."

Ghirahim went pale with barely contained rage. "You _imbecile_. It needs a power source!" For good measure, he gave the heap a kick. Despite the resounding clank, it didn't budge.

"But you said that you tested it," Vaati coolly said, having kept a safe distance away. "To break down the stone gates."

"Yes," Ghirahim smugly replied, his chin high and his arms folded across his chest. With another arrogant look at the Wind Wanderer, he said, "Goht needs a steady supply of energy. The nice thing is, it'll use pretty much any source of energy. You need only place it in the furnace. Some last longer than others."

"What kind of source did you use?" Nabooru asked, and, on seeing the nearly feral glint of malice in Ghirahim's eyes, regretted asking it instantly.

"I used my airship crew for fuel. I wanted to make sure my goods weren't damaged."

She saw the airship anchored to one of the palace wings. Protected by the canyon cliffs, it hovered some distance above ground. Below the ship, a real carnage had occurred. The dust and rock was soaked with dark blood. Her eyes flew back to Ghirahim, and his red cloak, which probably hid the bloodstains.

"You used peoples' _bodies_ for fuel?" Nausea, again, threatened to strike.

"You make it sound atrocious," Ghirahim flippantly commented. He dusted an invisible speck of dirt off his sleeve. "They're not efficient fuel. A few minutes of use per body. You'll need a better power source, but I'm told the Admiral has something in mind already."

"How…" The shock of absorbing the information made her ill. She looked back at the raw destruction, the incredible power necessary to destroy the thick stone doors of the palace gate. If this machine could do that, Ganondorf Dragmire had a weapon strong enough to crusade across Hyrule and through its allies without fear of being stopped.

Cold sweat made her shiver.

"Well, now that you're here," Ghirahim said, "you should tell me where you're headed."

Without thinking, Nabooru turned back to her contact and said, "We're meant to go to―"

"― Do not tell him."

Her eyes flew to Vaati's face, tense and serious, then to Ghirahim's, livid and angry.

"What?"

With one smooth movement, Vaati placed himself between them, his sword at the ready. "Or will you not kill us and claim the glory?" This accusation was aimed at Ghirahim, who was now quaking with rage.

"You insignificant roach!" From under his cape, Ghirahim pulled out a pistol. "I'm the one who went to all that trouble! You don't deserve half the praise I do!"

How Vaati had noticed it, Nabooru couldn't say. Panicked, she asked, "How did you know?"

"I was looking for it. Betrayal is what this man thrives on. The massacre was the final proof. Your friend does not care for human life, only for personal advancement."

With that, Vaati murmured something, and the sword in his hand glowed, until, by some trick of the light, or perhaps some real Magic, he was in fact four Vaatis, each identical to the other save for the colour of their attire, and Nabooru was safe, behind the blue Vaati.

Ghirahim also seemed surprised by this development. Still, he snarled, his pistol shifting aims frantically between the four enemies, "Illusions. Nice parlour trick."

Without wasting another breath, he shot at the green Vaati. The bullet went through the clone and out the other side, but didn't draw blood. The dust behind him exploded as the bullet hit.

"Hah!" Satisfied, Ghirahim turned his pistol on the blue Vaati, behind which Nabooru stood, nearly frozen with horror. "Well, if they're just ghosts, I've got you."

Ghirahim's laugh turned into a gurgle as the purple Vaati plunged his sword into his stomach from behind. The gunshot went off, hitting the red Vaati in the forehead, and causing no harm at all. Ghirahim crumbled, cursing as he went down.

Eyes wild, he spat at Vaati's true form, rage distorting his otherwise aristocratic features. "You miserable runt! You feckless cur! Ganondorf Dragmire will hear of this!"

"No," Vaati coolly said, pulling his sword out from Ghirahim's body ―the three clones vanished―, "He will not." Leaning down to speak softly into Ghirahim's face while the man's blood poured to the ground in a steady slick, "You see, there is nobody left to tell the tale." With a wicked, almost cruel smirk that Nabooru disliked instantly, Vaati indicated the blood stains in the dust below the airship, where Ghirahim's crew had been slaughtered.

Ghirahim's eyes grew wide with horror at his own mistake. He was out of breath and growing pale. "You… you can't…"

"Can I not?" Vaati scoffed.

With a decidedly scared whimper, Ghirahim tried to put pressure on his wound, though the effort was doomed from the start. Vaati took his gun away from the contact, practising an almost surgical examination of the mechanism. With a shrug, he locked the safety back on, then tossed it to Nabooru in one smooth, calculated movement. She caught it without difficulty.

She stepped towards Ghirahim, locking eyes with Vaati. "Shouldn't we…"

With a hiss, the wounded man snarled at her, "Stay away, bitch! I don't need your help! I don't need anyone's help!"

"_Parlada le deregu hume_," Vaati mumbled. Ghirahim merely cursed. Nabooru set her jaw.

"He's right, you know," she said to Ghirahim. "A dying man shouldn't talk that way."

Ghirahim curled over his wound, his breath coming quickly now, his face drained and his voice weak. "Go to the Dark Realm and burn there, you sad excuse for a woman."

Nabooru scowled and pulled out Ghirahim's gun.

"No mercy for the one who has none for others," Vaati said, almost to remind her. Her eyes flew up, ―_the sun low on the horizon, the King ordered her war sisters to go to battle in the great grasses to the east, her exile was inevitable_― and a feeling of grim necessity made her look back at Vaati with defiance. She couldn't identify it, only that it seemed like something she ought to feel, like it was a step to becoming who she was supposed to be.

"I will always have mercy," she said.

Then, with one calm, steady movement, she shot Ghirahim in the face.

For a moment, she saw Ganondorf Dragmire's face, but it wasn't him, it was―

'_You dare deny a direct order from your rightful king?' The slap was heart-stopping, but not unexpected. 'I could have you executed for that. But I need all able bodies for the war in Hyrule.' This was said softly, like a mere afterthought, and, with a snap of his fingers, he ordered something to a guard over her shoulder, though she couldn't see what he asked._

_With an almost gentle movement, the King of Thieves picked her up by the arm and set her on her feet._

'_You are a strong war sister, Nabooru of the Sands, but that is of little worth to me if you are not obedient.'_

_She was about to speak, but he raised his arm and his handsome features contorted with anger again. With another slap, he sent her sprawling again to the ground. This time, the pain was excruciating. She'd have a bruise without a doubt. With the same gentle motion she dreaded, he pulled her to her feet again._

'_If you do not fight the Hyrulians as I command, I will send you to be devoured by the very sands of your namesake.'_

_Before he could raise his hand to strike again, the fortress door creaked. In hobbled the two witch sisters Nabooru hated so vehemently, the cowering, insidious, twisted hags. It was like they'd waited for it._

'_Son of the Desert, you did well to call for our help once more,' the ice witch said, smirking._

'_We will show her obedience for your sake, Century-born,' the fire hag promised, her honeyed words hiding sadism of which only the King knew the depth._

_Pain_―

Nabooru gasped, and grabbed at her chest.

Vaati was at her side in an instant. He looked concerned, but unsurprised.

"You were away," he simply said. "Were you not?"

"What did I see?" She gasped, her legs failing. She fell to her knees. "It was so― it was so vivid―"

"It is as I suspected. Your awakening has begun. It will be gradual, and full of… memories."

"That was a memory?" Nabooru breathed, feeling weak. Her eyes fell on Ghirahim's dead body. "Why did killing him do that to me?"

Vaati didn't reply. Her eyes flew up to his face. He was grimly looking down at Ghirahim's body as well, his jaw set.

"Vaati?"

"It is not for me to say," Vaati ground out, at length. "I wish I could tell you. But there are stories that are not mine to tell. You will recover the information you need. In due time."

"Why can't you tell me? The Great Deku Tree told you to help me!"

"The Great Deku Tree is wise, but even he was but a seed when your memories formed. Be patient." Steadily, he helped her up.

"You were mean," Nabooru babbled. "With Ghirahim. You were cruel."

"I had to be, but you _would_ be offended."

"What's that supposed to mean?" She shook his hand off when she found her footing. She was surprised to see he looked amused.

"You are Spirit. It is your nature to stand up for your beliefs, for decency, for equality, for justice, even at the cost of your rank and life."

"Is that what happened? Did I die because I was trying to protect something?"

Vaati shot her a stern look. "In due time, Spirit."

"Don't call me that. My name is Nabooru…" She frowned. "It always has been."

Vaati smiled. "Indeed. I wish I could say the same." A fleeting look of regret, or perhaps nostalgia, crossed his face. When she said nothing, he relented a few details. "I was once named Gufuu, and I did awful things to unite the people and call the timeless Hero to duty. After my calculated defeat, I vanished into the Caves." His red eyes met her golden ones. "Where you found me, centuries later. I know this is because I have a role to play in this cycle. Have faith you will find out about yours. In due time."

Nabooru sighed. "Alright. You haven't failed me so far. If I can trust my intuition, I think you're on my side." Vaati smiled. "So." She turned to the airship and the large carcass of the mechanical bull. "To Calatia with the bull?"

"To Calatia with the bull," Vaati confirmed. "I hope you know how to pilot those machines." He nodded at the airship.

"I am a captain of the―" She realised then that they'd been talking in Old Hylian the whole time, since she'd pulled the trigger, and the language had come as naturally as it would have to a native speaker. She sought the words, then switched back to Modern. "… the Guardian Air Force," Nabooru smiled weakly, trying to summon confidence. "If anyone can pull this off, it's me."

Vaati noticed the switch, but said nothing of it. With one elegant motion, he said, "Ladies first."


	24. 2-7 - The Family

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 7: THE FAMILY**

* * *

><p><em>25<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall Island<br>Gillian's Café Bar_

"You're sure this is the place?" Sheik looked at the ordinary tables and ordinary folk sitting in the bar, some deep in conversation, some quiet and morose.

Link nodded. "It's the place Tetra described." He approached the counter, and said, to the bartender, "Hello, I was told this is where refugees meet up."

Gillian, the pub owner, was a pretty blonde typical of Waker, with a sharp gaze and a light tan. Solidly built and of average beauty, she didn't stand out among the people of Waker at all, which didn't keep her from getting a few flirts. Much like the rest of the inhabitants of the Waker archipelago, she was proud of her business and her upbringing.

"It's one of the spots for refugees to locate family members," she confirmed, motioning to the far wall. The visitors stared at the hundreds of notices, pictures and messages with contact information.

"Oh," Malon breathed. "And there are more places like this?"

"A few, typically one per district, to condense information," Gillian replied, obviously used to the repeated questions. "If you'd like to post information, let me know. I have to keep a census, and take down posters that are marked as 'resolved'."

"Actually," Link said, "I'm meeting my sister. Tetra Pirates already set the meeting up."

Gillian pursed her lips, raising a brow. "And?"

"And… Um…" Link looked about, seeing no sign of Aryll. "Well, I don't know… maybe she took a private room?"

Gillian smiled without humour. "I don't rent out. If she's not in here," she motioned vaguely to the vast room they were all standing in, "she hasn't arrived yet. If you're in a hurry," she added, also in a recited fashion, "I can take down your name and let her know you were in."

"Um…" Link glanced at the others. "I guess we can wait."

Gillian shrugged one shoulder, eyeing them expectantly.

Awkwardly, Malon ordered a pint of local ale for herself, bought a glass of milk soda for Kidd, and left a generous tip. Gillian turned to the men.

"Can I get you anything?"

Link shrugged. "Water." Sheik and Colin nodded in agreement. They were running low on cash and avoided pulling from their military accounts. The overseas fees were ridiculous. Gillian rolled her eyes, mumbling about the military, and slid three glasses of water over to them.

"This," Sheik groused as he raised his glass to his lips, "is dismal at best."

Malon's lips quirked up on the rim of her glass.

Suddenly, the Café Bar's door swung open, casting sunlight into the dim room, and a diminutive girl exclaimed, her healthy lungs clearly put to good use, "Shheeeeiiiik!"

With barely enough time to put his glass somewhere safe, Sheik was nearly toppled by a pretty, young blonde girl in braids. She swung her arms around him and hugged tightly.

Struggling to stay on his feet, Sheik took the girl by the shoulders and plunked her firmly on her feet.

"Aryll," he flatly said, shooting Link a carefully disguised look of amusement. Malon, Kidd and Colin, curious, watched in earnest.

Link, for his part, was stony-faced. "Seriously? Sheik gets the tackle? Seas, sands and skies, _I'm _your brother."

Aryll shot her elder brother a grin that clearly ran in the family. "Oh, pooh," she cooed, "don't worry. Grandma's got a pinch planned for your cheek."

"That makes me feel so much better."

Aryll smiled sunnily and moved away from Sheik. "I missed you, ass face. I didn't think I'd see you before the end of the war." There was an edge to the words, something dark that clearly didn't match Aryll's usual bright nature.

"I missed you, rat ass," Link said, his throat tight. "How is Nana? How's… How's home?"

Aryll averted her gaze and stared at the glasses lined up over the counter. A moment passed, during which she seemed to search for words. Finally, she replied, "It's gone. Great-Fish-gone." Despite the absence of tears, Link saw the pain in her eyes. He clenched his teeth.

"Oh, honey," Malon said, sorrow and sympathy aimed at the young girl.

Link reached out to hug his sister. She let him, for once, instead of teasing him, and Sheik lowered his eyes. Colin knew Sheik understood their pain, having lived it himself.

"Did any of your friends―"

"Sue-Belle made it." Aryll quickly replied, pulling away to answer her brother. After a moment, she added, "Mesa was a real hero and saved her. Our neighbours too, their house was on fire. We all made it to the airships. But those who lived on the east rock, who went for the boats―" She took a shaky breath. "―They were sunk. About forty of us actually made it to safety."

Sheik hung his head, both in sadness and frustration. Link, for his part, stared into space, as though he couldn't comprehend it. Colin watched on with sympathy. Most, if not all, of Link's childhood friends hadn't made it, then.

Aryll, who'd had the misfortune of mourning longer than they had, managed to compose herself faster. She turned to Colin and Malon with polite interest, to give Link and Sheik time to recover.

"You must be Colin Blade, son of Rusl Blade, the commander."

Kidd set his jaw and walked off, to stare at the wall of messages and pictures.

Surprised into shyness, Colin nodded. "Um, yes. I am." Embarrassed, he added, "I'm very sorry for your home, and your losses."

Aryll nodded, her smile strained. "You're as polite as Link said in his letters." Colin reddened somewhat. With the same interest, she added, for Malon, "I've never heard of you, I'm sorry."

"I'm a recent addition," Malon lightly said. "Malon Ranch. Mechanic on the Sky City Celestia and a blight in Mr. Strike's life."

Aryll smirked. "How so?"

Sheik rolled his eyes and shot Malon a frustrated look. "I just think you don't give the Skyloft-class propellers the credit they're due."

"Please," Malon scoffed, "Skyloft Entreprises haven't built a decent propeller in at least a decade. Their hovercrafts are top-notch, I'll give you that―"

"Clearly," Sheik replied, his normally composed tone rising a little, "working on Celestia doesn't make you an expert on propellers. Hovercrafts only."

Malon's eyes widened. "The nerve!" She shot Aryll a look that clearly said 'See what I'm dealing with?' to which Aryll could only nod in sympathy.

"Tech heads," Colin mumbled, prompting Link's sister to laugh out loud.

"He's funny," she said, to her brother. Link was barely paying attention, his eyes staring into space. It was unlike him to be so removed from the moment. His companions shuffled awkwardly.

"I take it you don't know who actually attacked Outset?" Malon asked, trying to make the conversation productive.

"I'm not sure," Aryll replied. "I think the high command knows who did it. All I remember is that they were Guardian issue― maybe Labrynnian, maybe Rito. It was strange, their ships were marked with the initials KO. I don't know any island in Waker with that registration marker."

Link frowned, pulled out of his stupor to ponder. "Maybe it's their creation."

Aryll furrowed a brow, and for a moment brother and sister shared the same expression. "Maybe. I wish I'd paid attention…"

"I'm glad you took care of your safety first. And Grandma's, too."

Aryll brightened somewhat. "She'll want to see you." For the benefit of Link's companions, she added, with a smile, "All of you."

"I wouldn't want to impose," Malon hastened to say.

"If you don't come we'll have to eat all the food by ourselves, and we'll become huge," Aryll joked. "I insist. On her behalf, and for our sake."

Malon shot Sheik a curious look, and he smiled encouragingly.

Link nodded. "Yes, she'll want as many people to feed as possible."

Colin smiled, and Aryll took his arm, dragging him to the door. Sheik and Malon followed suit. Link took a last, steadying breath, and prepared to follow, until he noticed Kidd had slipped away.

The young teen was reading the messages on the wall, frowning in effort. It occurred to Link that the boy was looking for someone too. He approached quietly, and asked, "What's the name you're looking for?"

"It's no big deal," Kidd said, dismissively. He immediately pulled away from the wall, averting his eyes. "I'll find him eventually."

"I could help," Link offered.

"I said I would be fine on my own," Kidd bit out, shooting the pilot a wary look.

"I'm just trying to help," Link reminded him.

"I know," the boy sighed, his tenacious look melting into one of fatigue, the kind of exhaustion that spoke volumes about the harsh toll life had taken on him in so few years. "You've done enough." As though he knew his tone sounded a little curt, he amended, "I mean, you got me this far. I can take care of the rest."

"You shouldn't have to work alone," Link said, eyeing the wall of desperate messages, covered in pictures of families and people who were broken apart, the hastily scrawled cries for help. "I know I wouldn't want to do this alone."

Kidd didn't add anything. He simply said, "They're waiting for you. Let's go."

Shoving his hands into his pockets, the orphan pickpocket dragged his feet to the door. Link followed suit, contemplating the fact that the thief hadn't said 'they're waiting for us', and how unfair that was.

"You'll see," he said, falling into step and opening the door to let the boy out first, "we'll come back tomorrow. I'll help you out."

Kidd shrugged, like it didn't matter, but Link was sure he saw a weak smile on the teen's lips.

"Wow," Aryll whined in teasing, her blonde hair shining in the sunlight, "you're like a snail."

Link smiled, and ruffled her hair, loosening her braids. She squawked angrily, and glared at him.

"You never change," Link chuckled.

"Where are you staying?" Sheik asked. "Windmill Hotel?"

Aryll shook her head, taking them down the long, curving street that went all the way down to the Gate district and, beyond that, to the Harbour. "No, they were booked solid with other refugees by the time we made it here. We're staying in the tenements by the Gate. It's not fancy, but it's close to the Factories and the Harbour, and we can find the Civilian Resistance headquarters there."

"You're part of the resistance?" Link's tone was heavy with surprise.

Aryll laughed. "Of course, silly." She smirked and added, "So is Grandma."

When Link simply gaped, trying to figure out whether or not his sister was kidding, Colin commented, "I think the real question is, 'who isn't part of the resistance?'"

"Traitors, crooks and collaborators," Aryll darkly replied. "Those who want to side with Waker Skies. Honestly, I can't think of anyone worse than that."

Her aggressive tone was unusual, Colin deduced, judging from the uneasy looks Sheik and Link exchanged.

"And what is it you do in the resistance?" Link asked, changing the subject.

Aryll brightened. "I assist Groose Pomp." When Sheik openly groaned, Malon raised a brow.

"Who is Groose Pomp?"

"Only the biggest bully I've ever known," Sheik said.

Aryll rolled her eyes. "I can't believe you still have bad blood. He's head of Civilian Defences now, and doing a pretty good job of it, too. Hasn't bullied anyone in years," she added, for Malon's benefit.

"Why don't you marry him, then?" Sheik sarcastically commented.

"You giant baby," Aryll laughed. "He's a bit self-absorbed, but deep down he's a big sweetheart."

Sheik grunted, but didn't say anything more. They all fell into step, wading through the crowd.

Windfall was an industrial city. As the most populated island in Waker, it was the economic capital of the ocean country, even though the political capital had been Great Fish before its destruction. Now that Great Fish was nothing more than a ruined island battered by the waves, a mass grave for the Waker Zoras, and that Ralis and Rutela, the royal family, lived in Windfall, it was the most important sea port, on par with Termina's Great Bay port and Labrynna's Crescent harbour.

Dragon Roost, the captured Rito home island, had once been a great airport, welcoming airships too large to visit Windfall's landing port. Now that it was under Hylian Alliance jurisdiction, it served as a backup port for the military. The Rito loyal to Prince Komali who had fled to the west had left behind high-grade facilities. It was an invaluable capture, and the Rito who had chosen to side with the Hylian Alliance manned it. It was better that way― with the defection of the Rito, the Hylian Alliance peoples harboured a visceral distrust of the avian race. Laruto, in an effort to welcome the few Rito loyal to her, and for their protection, had decided to isolate them.

Now and then, though, some of them would come to Windfall for parts and supplies, causing ripples among the native inhabitants. The betrayal had stung, and despite the best efforts of the authorities, it would take years to heal the relationship between Hylians and Rito.

As they descended from the natural hill where Windfall's richer people lived, the houses became smaller and darker. Rich owners could afford sandblasting their facades, making the natural white brick native to Windfall stand out. In the lower areas, however, the brick had gone grimy with soot and dirt, until it looked like it had always been brownish grey.

Here, too, the houses were more closely packed, squeezed together in narrow slivers with narrow windows and narrow doors. They followed the natural curve and slope of the road that spiralled around the island from Windmill Court all the way down to the low harbour. Occasionally, a venerable tree emerged from the sidewalk, almost like the people had forgotten to remove it during their expansion.

As they neared the Gate district, the street filled with noise. The Windfall Gate was an old, very old arch, made in the same local white brick as the rest of the buildings. It was the only standing part of a defensive wall that had protected the island over five hundred years ago, and held a cultural significance only because it was one of the few relics still intact. The houses around it, though, were not considered with the same care. They seemed to slump over themselves, like slices too soft to hold themselves up properly, looking worn and battered. They were rundown tenements unfit for anyone seeking comfort and space, but their proximity to the market made them precious pieces of real estate.

At the foot of the shoddy houses, stalls and shops were teeming with customers. The Gate district served as a central spot for the people of Windfall, a chokepoint for workers from the Harbour and Factories heading home as well as rich business owners heading to work. At the junction of the poorer and richer neighbourhoods, the market grew on both sides of the street. Some shops boasted their age ― 'Brek Breakfast', a tiny restaurant with a crooked door, claimed it had been around since Old Hylian was still in use. A barbershop advertised it had been in business for five generations. Other shops promised the best prices in the Waker archipelago. With the war, it was a difficult claim to uphold.

Aryll lead them down a side street covered in weeds, past a sleeping man who smelled awful, and to a small courtyard littered with trash.

"This is it," she said, a small, deprecating smile on her lips.

The apartment building she indicated looked nearly black with grime, the cracked windows poorly repaired with tape and cardboard. The door's paint had cracked and peeled off, the plaster doorframe riddled with hairline cracks that spoke of its age and poor maintenance. It rose crookedly for three levels, its roofing tiles covered in moss and rising at the corners.

Link balled his hands into fists. Even Sheik looked disgusted.

"We had so much better," Link said, his voice almost choking. "Our house on Outset―"

"It's gone," Aryll said, her curt tone like a slap to her brother's face. "This is all we can afford." She tried to look upbeat. "I have friends in the Resistance. They said they'd help us fix the roof and the windows before storm season."

"What does Grandma think of this?" Link quietly asked.

Aryll shuffled a little, switching her weight to her other foot. "She coughs a lot when it rains. I make sure there's always a fire to keep the humidity out."

Link looked particularly frustrated at the news.

Overhead, one of the windows swung open, and a wrinkled, round face peered out. With a surprisingly strong voice, the old woman, her white hair pulled back into a tight chignon, called down to the young people in the courtyard.

"Link, Aryll, stop bickering and come give your old grandmother a kiss!"

Malon, Colin and Kidd couldn't help but smile a little when both Link and Aryll, rebuked by the tone more than the words, cringed for a split-second before grinning broadly.

"Coming, Nana!" Link called, his face actually beaming. "I'm hungry!"

The Forester matriarch rolled her eyes in a show of humour, and for a moment her teasing made her look strong and younger than she was. "You always are. Heavens forbid you'd visit just for the company…" The rest of her sentence was an unintelligible grumble as she vanished inside the window again.

Exchanging childish grins, the Forester siblings forgot for a moment that they'd been sad. Aryll took out a set of keys and opened the door. Overhead, the firm voice of their grandmother called out again.

"And tell Sheik he better have a kiss for me, too!"

Sheik laughed. "I would never deny you anything."

"You wouldn't," the voice mumbled, barely loud enough for them to hear, though they all listened intently. "I've been feeding you for years."

As one, the young group laughed.

Inside, the building was just as rundown as the outside. The narrow staircase leading up from the boarded up living room and parlour was crooked and uneven, the wooden steps creaking under their weight. The area on the second floor, at least, had seen some cleaning. The floors weren't dusty, though they showed evident signs of wear, and there wasn't a pervasive smell of musty fabric. Instead, the smell of warm broth and meatloaf wafted to their nose, drawing them instinctively to the tiny, narrow kitchen.

They didn't all fit in the minuscule room, so Kidd, Colin and Malon waited outside, in the doorjamb, ignoring their grumbling stomachs while the siblings and Sheik greeted their Grandmother warmly.

Link leaned down and planted a firm kiss on his father's mother's cheek, the cool parchment skin smelling as it always did, of flowers and spice. Her hug was fierce and spoke of her affection, despite her arthritis.

When he pulled away to grin broadly at her, his Grandma's eyes were teary, her smile wobbly. Smile melting away, he shot her a concerned look, but she offered no verbal explanation. Only her soft, wrinkled hand on his own cheek spoke of her worry, her relief and her caring. It slipped away and she resolutely turned to Sheik, reserving a more motherly embrace for the grown-up orphan. She had always been fiercely protective of Sheik, who had come to her almost by chance, tailing behind her grandson, looking pale, tired and quiet. Of the sad child he had been, only some bits remained, evident during hard and sombre times. Within the Forester family, Sheik Strike was a member of the clan, equal to Link and Aryll.

When the emotion passed, the Forester matriarch, who was diminutive and even smaller than Aryll, spoke to the three waiting outside the cramped kitchen. "And you, come here, I want to meet you."

Link, Sheik and Aryll slipped out of the kitchen, pressed in the hallway. Malon outstretched a polite hand, which Nana took into both her wrinkled hands and squeezed. Suddenly embarrassed by the obvious warmth, Malon politely said, "My name is Malon. I'm from Celestia."

If this information surprised the Forester grandmother, she didn't let it show. Celestia was a legendary construction, and Malon was used to people expressing admiration. Perhaps Nana didn't know what it was, or perhaps she didn't care.

"And you, boys," she said to Colin and Kidd, after eyeing Malon with veiled approval, "you can come closer, I won't bite." She smiled, dentures straight. She gazed sternly at Colin, who moved forward.

"His name is Colin Blade, Nana," Link said. "He's my navigator during missions."

Nana's brows shot up, staring at Colin with wide eyes. "So young!" With a glance at Kidd, who was even younger, she asked, "Don't tell me you're in the army too!"

"I'm not," Kidd gruffly said. "I'm from Castleton. My name is Kidd."

Grandma Forester eyed Kidd with a practised eye, taking in his oversized clothes, his tired expression, the haunting age in his gaze, and shot Sheik and Link a look that said she knew why it was familiar.

"Orphans again?"

Kidd's expression closed up, but she didn't seem to worry. With a gentle but firm hand, she brought the boy in for a hug, and sat him on a wobbly chair in the kitchen.

"He eats first," she said, and there was no changing her mind.

"It's okay," Kidd protested, "I'm not hungry."

Nana ignored him. "Children, set the table." Instantly, Aryll, Link and Sheik sprung to action. "There won't be enough space for all of us, so we'll put a tablecloth on the ground, and you'll eat there." With practical efficiency, she managed to make it acceptable by adding, "Surprise picnic."

Malon and Colin chuckled, but Kidd still looked uneasy. The elderly woman squeezed his shoulder with the same firm grip as usual, and Kidd calmed down somewhat.

The real beauty and power of Link's grandmother, it seemed, was her ability to take everything in stride. Combined to her superhuman capacity to calm uncomfortable children with a simple squeeze, it made for one formidable woman.

"Has she always been this way?" Malon softly asked Sheik when he stepped out of the kitchen to unfold a large tablecloth and spread it to the floor.

"Oh, she used to be more," Sheik said, grinning a little, his voice soft to avoid being overheard. "When I met her, she still had enough strength to churn her own butter and lift us bodily."

Malon smiled. Sheik hesitated for a moment, eyes caught on her expression, then he returned his attention to the task at hand. With a practical hand, Malon helped him settle the cloth on the floor.

"Thanks," he said, almost begrudgingly. She shrugged.

"It's the least I can do." Her eyes looked at the only other doorway in the hall aside from the kitchen and the stairwell. It was a simple living space, cramped with old furniture. The array of blankets and pillows indicated it was most likely Nana's or Aryll's bedroom. "But we should worry about finding a place to sleep. There's no space here and I don't want to impose any further than this."

"I agree," Colin said. "If you want, I can try to find somewhere for us to sleep―"

"You stay here," the grandmother firmly said, pulling the blonde navigator's arm towards a seat in the kitchen. "You'll worry about sleeping arrangements later. Aryll!"

"Yes, Grandma?"

"Can't you ask Telma to find something?"

"I was planning to," Aryll smiled. "She said she had something in the Factories."

"Who's Telma?" Link asked, filling bowls near the stove. His brow was furrowed in concentration, the mundane task requiring his full attention.

"Head of Civilian Housing," Aryll replied. "Member of the Resistance."

There was loud pounding at the door downstairs. Aryll and Nana exchanged looks, until Aryll opened the kitchen window and leaned out to see who was knocking.

"Gonzo?"

"Aryll! Groose wants to see everyone as soon as possible."

"Now?" Aryll asked, a bare hint of annoyance obvious in her voice and her grumbling stomach.

"It's important," the man named Gonzo called out.

Aryll pursed her lips and pulled away from the window. With a split second of hesitation, she pushed past the guests and hurried down the stairs. From their position at the top of the stairs, they could barely hear Aryll and Gonzo talking. When Aryll returned, she looked rattled.

"Is something the matter?" Colin asked.

Aryll leaned on the doorjamb and shot her brother, who stood still by the stove, an unreadable look. "There's word that a large fleet of Guardian ships has appeared west of Spectacle Island. They're heading here. If they don't stop," she estimated, her lips pressing together for a moment, "they'll be here in three days." A stunned silence fell over the kitchen guests. "I have to go."

Link shook his head. "What? No. Where?"

Aryll leaned to kiss her grandmother on the cheek, the old woman looking concerned but otherwise resolute, picked up a misshapen bag from the ground ―a hand-made tote that had seen better, cleaner days― and slung it over her shoulder. "I'm going to the Resistance, of course. They need every able-bodied person to ensure defences."

"Well," Sheik said, after a moment, "then there's no harm in us eating first, then going to help."

Aryll hesitated. More firmly, Malon agreed. "He's right. If we're to be out until late, we should at least enjoy a breather. Besides, I'm sure you're just as hungry as we are. And I'm sure Groose won't mind if you bring along a few extra hands."

Aryll shot her brother an uncertain look. He had been watching the exchange in silence, a small, pleased smile on his lips. When he turned his smile on her, she sighed, and put her bag down again.

"I suppose you're right," she said. "We'll need the energy."

Satisfied, stomachs grumbling, they all settled for a peaceful meal, in the calm before the storm.


	25. 2-8 - The Strategist

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 8: THE STRATEGIST**

* * *

><p>25th<em> of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age<br>Waker, Windfall Island  
>Windmill Hill conference room<em>

The late afternoon was melting into red and orange over the ocean. From Windmill Hill, the seat of power in Windfall, Zelda's eyes were stuck on the rooftops and streets that stretched until the very last inch of island fell into the ocean, stopping abruptly when their progression became impossible, their foundations wet and green with seaweed, the Factory district chimneys smoking perpetually, transforming precious resources into precious products. The fishing ships were switching places with navy ships, entering the Harbour and securing their lines to the many docks. Overhead, constant patrols zoomed, leaving streaks of propeller smoke in their wake.

Zelda turned her attention back to the inside of the room, where Queen Rutela sat, all grace and calm, at a table, surrounded by a silent crowd of people. Assistants, typists, advisors, they all sat at the long conference table where Rutela, Ashei Snow, Shad and she were seated in no particular order. It was a refreshing, if humbling, experience. Zelda sat next to Tetra, who was taking a flurry of notes. With the large number of intelligence reports being brought to the table, Zelda felt unnecessary to the proceedings.

The news of the enemy fleet's course had triggered a desperate rush among the people of Windfall. While Windfall was naturally well equipped to deal with naval warfare, they feared aerial attacks ―there was no proof the fleet wouldn't be accompanied by a sizeable army of airships. Initial scouts hadn't dared get closer. It was safe to presume there would be a large aerial attack, so the people boarded up their houses, hoarded water and dry goods... Fortunately, Zelda realised as she listened to the announcements made by Rutela's collaborators, Windfall seemed to have expected an attack, and preparations for its defence had long been underway. Besides, Rutela's reaction to the news had been calm and composed. The minute the fleet's position and direction had been confirmed, the Queen of Waker had fallen into the preparations without the frenzied rush that had filled the rest of her court.

Even Prince Ralis, her quiet son, was the picture of regal cool. Zelda couldn't help but admire them both. After the loss of their home island, watching over the flocks of refugees come to Windfall for shelter and rising to the defence of the economic capital of Waker was a heroic feat, and they accomplished it all with admirable stoicism.

Perhaps, Zelda thought, they had moved so far beyond fear, doubt or shock that they functioned the better for it. She envied them.

Shad was a far more active participant to the talks than Zelda was. She preferred to defer to Rutela's wisdom, taking a few mental notes to broach to her later, in private.

"It seems obvious to me," Shad was now saying, his hands spread out, palms up in a gesture of evidence, "that if we do not counter-attack, the message will be that we are weak." He didn't need to look around for approval; the room was warm with unspoken agreement. There was a rustle among the crowd of Rutela's assistants, people's breath coming differently, a tell-tale sign of their mutual feelings on the matter. Zelda, from her quiet post near Tetra, could almost read them instinctively. Shad had struck a chord that thrummed strongly within the people. If Rutela noticed it too, she didn't seem inclined to let them know. Shad continued, "How much further must the Guardians overstep their boundaries before we put them in their place?"

An almost noiseless murmur of assent rippled through the room, but it wasn't obvious to those who weren't paying particular attention to it.

Still the picture of regal poise, Rutela smiled. It was a simple, charming smile that put friends at ease and made enemies spill their guts. "I have considered this at length, Shad." She spoke on a first-name basis with all her subjects, but in her mouth, it didn't sound condescending. It was a noteworthy feat of strength. "I know," she added, strictly for the aristocrat's benefit, "that you do not share Thaddeus Knowing's penchant for neutrality. That said, is it truly in Hylia's best interest to further aggressions?"

Zelda was wondering the same thing, and the thought made her stomach feel like lead. The question was weighing heavily on most rulers in the Hylian Alliance at this part of the war. They were perpetually pummelled with enemy fire and raids, and they were losing more and more people every day. At the current rate of confrontation, Hylia would have lost a third of its active population since the beginning of the war. If they allowed it to go on.

Surrender, though not named openly, was perhaps the best option, if the only other alternative was absolute eradication of man, woman and child.

"There is no Hylia," Shad insisted. "We are in the midst of a civil war that will, if left unchecked, utterly destroy all that we stand for."

Ashei Snow coughed to clear her throat. She had, until now, only been there to answer direct questions, and was, like Zelda, quietly observing the meeting without intervening, taking mental notes for later. She was a pretty, exceptionally ebony-haired woman, though she looked tired and serious. Her military training had nevertheless taught her little in the way of posture, as she was, until then, slouched in her chair, her darkly circled eyes watching with an almost lazy expression the proceedings.

Now, however, she was sitting up. With a drawl Zelda identified with the northern provinces of Hyrule, Rutela's military advisor opined, "That is a very idealistic viewpoint."

She was careful in choosing her words, something that struck Zelda as an indicator of a high capacity of analysis and synthesis. Furthermore, Ashei did not need to speak loudly, her few words enough to command the table's attention. Even Shad, though slightly irked by the interruption, was quietly waiting for her to continue.

"A war," Ashei reminded him, though it was addressed to the whole room, "can only be waged by consuming valuable resources: people, talent, fuel, food, time. Without those resources, no higher purpose will convince a man or a woman to go die for king and country. Excuse the expression, yeah?" She added, her deep, circled eyes landing on Zelda and Rutela, who nodded.

"You have only just arrived," Rutela continued, making her polite observation to Shad, "but you must surely know we have been in a war of attrition for almost three years now, since the first attacks occurred in December of 3375. We had few troops and little land for cultivation to begin with. Every day is a struggle to distribute food and shelter. I do not think we can spare anyone to go on the offensive, stretched thin as we are."

"So," Shad slowly said, leaning back into his chair in a non-verbal gesture of defeat and deference, though his sullen tone spoke volumes of his personal opinion on the matter, "you will let them wash like a tidal wave over us, and never retaliate."

"We would weather them out, yes," Rutela agreed, her expression carefully void of personal inflection.

"Historically," Shad remarked, licking his lips, "that attitude has never yielded predictable results. So many factors play on who comes out the victor."

Ashei nodded. "With our current force, both aerial and naval, we can't compete. But we established a strong civilian response and ingrained a sense of fierce loyalty to the nation among the people, yeah? They've hardened against the war. They're ready to play a large role in the island's defence."

"Will it be enough?" Shad asked, with such an edge to his voice that Zelda politely coughed, telling him to watch his tone in the universal gesture of courtly poise.

Sheepishly, he shot her an apologetic look, but didn't outwardly make excuses to the assembly. It was, Zelda noted when she saw Rutela's bright gaze on her, a show of deference and respect he reserved exclusively for his own allegiance. On his behalf, Zelda nodded to Rutela, who smiled softly.

There was no evident protocol to Rutela's court, Zelda realised, but it was still there, made all more difficult to navigate because it was subdued and unspoken. Suddenly, she began to wonder whether she had been placed alongside Tetra and other assistants as a way to keep her quiet, to put her in a lower position.

But another glance at Rutela, herself sitting in an unimportant seat, assured her that wasn't the case. Rutela had ever been a friend of Hyrule, true and good and kind, handling her people firmly but fairly. In general, Rutela had had a lot less trouble managing the country since Queen Laruto's death than Zelda had since her imperial parents has passed. With Zelda's unremarkable record of accomplishments, it was very unlikely Rutela felt threatened enough to treat the younger royal with anything less than the courtesy she was due. Disrespect and unpleasantness was a tell-tale sign of concern. Rutela, however, had been the perfect host, even in her country's time of need.

"I think," the beautiful Zora queen said, "that we have no choice but to rely on the people of Windfall and Waker Sea as a whole. It is an unfortunate situation, but it may be our salvation."

Shad had little to say. He clenched his jaw in thought. It was time for Zelda to intervene. She moved forward in her seat, catching the polite attention of those around her.

Despite herself, she suddenly felt her hands begin to shake. She steadied them by pressing them against the table's hard surface. It had been sudden and scary to realise there was something she could and had to do. Now that the opportunity to aid the people of Hylia had presented itself, she realised, terror gripped her. It would have been easy to shirk her duty.

No longer. The Hylian Alliance depended on Waker. With Twilight, Holodrum, Labrynna and Calatia surrounding Hyrule to the West and North, with Minish in the East fighting a difficult battle on its Calatian border, it was only a matter of time before Hyrule itself was completely surrounded. The Minish had the advantage of a large mountainous barrier. Waker, however, was open, vulnerable, and already half-taken.

If Waker fell, it would be a turning point for the war. Any fool could see Waker and Minish had to hold. Termina didn't have the army to assist them.

"Given that we are dealing with the possibility of a maritime siege on Windfall," she carefully said, picking her words but trying hard not to hesitate or falter in her inflection, "I think it would be to Waker's advantage that I called Hyrulian forces immediately for assistance. If you would welcome them either in Dragon Roost or Windfall, I'm sure I can provide a dreadnought, or at least some cruisers for aerial command." She locked eyes with Ashei, who hadn't shown any particular expression but who met her gaze evenly, testifying to her full attention, "Hyrule's battlefront is contained to the Calatian mountains and the Gerudo canyon, with a stalemate on both fronts."

"It would weaken Hyrule's defences," Ashei calmly observed.

"With Castleton being Hylia's imperial capital," Rutela added, "that is a risk you should not take."

"If Waker falls entirely to Guardian control," Zelda reasoned, ignoring the slight condescension they were aiming at her, "Hyrule will fall in a matter of days. It is not enough for me to consolidate my country's borders. Together, we stand a chance, but if one falters, the others follow." She took a deep breath and got ready to admit a truth no one, not even Rutela, would have been bold enough to say aloud, "It is no secret my reign is weak." Despite the sudden rise of polite protestation, she went on. "I am governed by the men I have named stewards in my absence, having bowed to their greater wisdom my whole life."

There was no protestation on that end. Even Shad remained silent. Zelda ignored how the brutal honesty of their silence smarted. She took a deep breath again and went on.

"In so doing, I have never truly had to decide anything alone. But this," she continued, now that the initial insult had been moved to the back of her mind, her voice steady and stronger than she felt, "this is a course I cannot back away from. It is time Hyrule brought the support Waker so desperately needs. We must face this enemy as one. I must ask that we consolidate our efforts and our resources for the duration of the war, until it ends."

She glanced at Shad, who looked, understandably, shell-shocked. The rest of the room's occupants still looked disconcerted.

For good measure, she added, "I pledge Hyrule will hold to its promises, as it has for all of our history. In exchange, I simply ask for your assistance and collaboration." She took a shaky breath, the only outward sign she felt anxiety at all. "The people of the Hylian Alliance must come together, under one central government, if we are to win."

At length, Rutela said, "If such is your sincere decision, Princess Zelda of Hyrule, I will gladly accept any and all help Hyrule may offer." She had chosen to skirt the notion of a central government, and Zelda put that observation to the back of her mind, to be examined later. "Ashei will see to the accommodation of the officers and warships. I must ask, however," and here the Queen's expression took on a grave look Zelda had not seen in a long time, "that you make haste. The enemy will reach us in a matter of days."

Zelda pressed her lips together as she stood, then said, for them all, "_La Lusce alne soda u yuni_."

"Let us only hope the Light is on our side," Ashei grumbled, and Shad shot the military advisor a dark glare.

"We will make good on Hyrule's promise," he gritted out. "For the good of Hylia and its people."

"Shad," Zelda curtly said, meaning to leave the room and wanting to keep an eye on him. His temper was going to flare and she didn't need to dampen their spirits any further. He reluctantly stood and followed. With one last nod at Rutela and her assistants, Zelda left the room.

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" Shad asked, making sure not to speak loud enough to be overheard by any guards on duty.

"You sounded eager to strike out," Zelda softly said as they walked down the white hallway towards the stairs. "And now that I choose to help them, you would have me keep my cards close to my chest?"

Shad looked flustered. "I didn't expect you to pledge a dreadnought. Some Flit squadrons, perhaps―" He paused to collect his thoughts. "Well, I do think it's the right course of action for Waker, but perhaps your stewards will be upset to see their already dwindling force reduced so dramatically."

"Waker will obviously be the theatre of the war's most important battles," Zelda carefully said. "Evidently, Ganondorf Dragmire believes it is the easiest way into Hyrule. With stalemates all over the map, this is his last chance for a strong push. We'll leave the flagship _Faron _in Hyrule, but I'd like―"

"Princess Zelda!"

She and Shad turned as one, seeing Tetra hurry down the hallway towards them. Zelda paused, uncertain. Tetra stopped in front of them, and smiled sincerely.

"I simply wanted to say, on the Queen's behalf, thank you."

"She could have said so herself―" Shad commented, offended, but Zelda interrupted him with one gesture of her hand.

"Begging for our help would have seemed weak, and her people need a strong queen. It was my pleasure," she added, for Tetra's benefit.

"I know this is doesn't compare, given the circumstances," Tetra said, "but I asked friends in the Civilian Resistance to give me a fixed address for the pilot who brought you here. I think it may be good to surround yourself with Hyrulians in the coming days. He may not be particularly renowned, but as captain, he's the highest-ranked Hyrulian officer in Waker I know of."

Shad took the envelope Tetra handed them. With a lot more tact than Zelda expected, he admitted, "It's true he's come through for us on many an occasion." He eyed Zelda, who was carefully hiding her personal opinion on the topic.

Zelda outstretched her hand, quietly asking for the address. It was odd, the way thinking of the handsome pilot made her heart leap. It was unreasonable, actually. She'd seen plenty of attractive men at court, and those hadn't seen her vomit. A mix of embarrassment and panic gripped her. "Thank you," she said, to Tetra. "I'm sure you're right. He'll be good counsel in the coming days."

Perhaps, Zelda considered, watching Tetra's bright blue eyes flicker with intelligence and perceptiveness, the queen's assistant knew something more, something that amused her somewhat.

Feeling sudden irritation heat her cheeks, she added, a little bit reproachfully, "You seem very pleased with yourself."

Tetra actually laughed. "I'm sorry, your highness. It's just, I allowed myself to look through his records. He's a charming man. Clean record, numerous recommendations, several medals of courage, single… A perfect example of Hyrule's finest. I'd have half a mind to keep him to myself."

"Wait," Shad interrupted, "you looked into Hyrule's military records? How? I thought military matters were exclusive to their respective countries."

Tetra turned her sharp, amused gaze on him. "With all due respect, sir, I make it my business to know these things. But since you insist, he had to provide personal identification when you landed, and under the Open Borders Act, we can access the official files of anyone visiting our country."

Shad scowled. Zelda actually found herself chuckling. She held up the envelope with Link Forester's information within.

"He's single, is he?" She smiled, trying to appear aloof. "Perhaps I _should _let you talk to him instead."

Tetra looked mildly horrified. "I wouldn't dare. You are a guest of Waker. Pre-war, our sales pitch was going to be 'Sea of Entertainment'. So I humbly suggest, Miss Zelda, that you go entertain yourself while you're away from home. I promise you, what happens in Waker…"

Zelda laughed, the better to hide the sudden heat rising in her chest. With a tone of good humour, she found the strength to joke, "Oh, I'm sure the people would understand their princess frolicking in times of war." When Tetra grinned, Zelda felt a weight lift off her shoulders. Even Shad's lips curled up a little at the corners.

"Well," she said, after a moment, "thank you." She gestured with the envelope. "I, um, I have to send messages to Castleton. I'm sure we will speak later."

"Rutela will want private counsel with you," Tetra agreed. "You brought up some delicate matters and she'd prefer to discuss them with you behind closed doors."

It was on the tip of Zelda's tongue to apologize for inconveniencing them, but she stopped herself. Her reign was weak, and she wouldn't weaken it further. "I wanted to share my sincere concerns. It was not my intention to put Rutela at odds with her court on the topic of an imperial seat of power." Although, to be quite honest, Zelda thought to herself, nursing a neutral expression, the empire of Hylia was hers by birthright, and the coming days would remind the remaining royals of the Hylian Alliance that despite her youth, she was their superior. It was a selfish thought when she put it outwards, but deep down, she felt she would be able to do so much more if they'd just give her the throne. Instead, they dallied, the void left behind by her parents so easily filled locally rather than centrally.

"I'm sure Rutela understands," Tetra agreed, though she averted her sharp blue eyes, the tell-tale sign of a polite lie. Zelda set her jaw and smiled thinly, their previous good humour gone, the sea of diplomacy and words treacherous and delicate to navigate once more.

"Well, good afternoon," she said, and Tetra smiled, sincerely.

"Good afternoon, Zelda. I'll contact you when I can."

With a glance at Shad, Zelda turned on her heel, the envelope in her hand burning her fingers.


	26. 2-9 - The Caster

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 9: THE CASTER**

* * *

><p><em>26<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Twilight, Nightfall airspace<br>Over the desert_

"Why would Mad sit around in Nightfall when he could head straight to Calatia?"

"I don't know," Midna replied, ignoring the companionship that hung over them as best as she could. Since they'd left Samasa, Dark's behaviour had been uncomfortably warm, if not particularly polite. He was a straightforward talker, a capable partner and a decent pilot now that he'd warmed to the Flit controls. Consequently, Midna struggled with her desperate desire to keep things to herself and her equally powerful need to just rely on someone, for once.

"Maybe he thinks he can pull extra payment from Ganondorf Dragmire if he holds on to the Sol?"

"Could be," Midna softly answered, evasively. "It's true being in possession of a Sol is a big bargaining chip." Perhaps he meant to finish what he'd started, pushing her off the political scene entirely by proving he was now the guardian of both Sols and that she'd failed in her duty. The thought made her blood run cold. Zant Grim was a strong opponent, and that move would be the end of her political career, not her life.

Then again, Midna considered as she eyed Dark's hands relaxing on the controls, it wasn't because Zant hadn't tried to kill her. Dark's intervention in the warehouse that night had without a doubt saved her life, but it had finished her political reign. She wondered if she wouldn't have preferred to die. But then, her people, her homeland, would have fallen to a brand new Grim dynasty, and sands knew how poorly that would go.

Shaking the thought off, she took a deep breath. She was doing the right thing. She'd fight for her people. She'd fight until she died, if need be. No point mulling on her failures now. Her intentions were pure. Her wish to retake the throne was right.

"Why did your people elect him as Artificial Design anyway?" Dark asked, it felt like the millionth time.

She scowled. "I told you. Empty promises, charming manners, and a general ignorance on the part of the people. It's a lot easier to elect a lying charmer than an honest realist. He told them what they wanted to hear― that the Guardians would give the people power, that they'd all become equals in the eye of the law."

"Aren't they?" Dark frowned.

"Of course they are," Midna snapped. "But some are more equal than others, as Zant said." She lifted a finger and indicated herself. "I," she said, her tone dripping with sarcasm, "am apparently the last obstacle on the road to a true equalitarian government."

Dark rolled his eyes and snorted softly. "I heard the Guardian propaganda. Equal rights… it's a pretty ideal," he grudgingly admitted, "but not applicable. The people themselves fight for dominance over each other on a daily basis… They won't change all of a sudden. Mad foremost among them."

"You know it already. Ganondorf Dragmire is selling the idea that the people should choose among themselves who is appropriate to lead them," Midna sighed. "It's not that I'm averse to the idea, but obviously the people can't choose anyone with a single shred of moral decency." She rested her head against the cool cockpit window next to her, eyes watching the dunes and rock formations fly by. "And the people are especially vulnerable to suggestion."

"Guardians of the future…" Dark shot Midna an open look, one that contained a question so direct she had trouble meeting his gaze. "Do you think our war is lost?"

"Depends what our war is," Midna quietly said. "Are we fighting for the political integrity of Hylia as a whole? Do we simply want to save Twilight from its people?" She shrugged, then eyed him critically. "We? Are you even on my side?"

Dark shot her an annoyed look. "By now I should think that's obvious, princess." He had recovered from the rough encounter with Zant Grim with astonishing aplomb, his focus strictly on being the best partner she could hope for. It was enough to make Midna wonder if there wasn't something at stake.

"I don't know," Midna bit out, her tone slightly more acid than she meant it. "You turned on the Guardians easily enough, and on the Hylian Alliance before that."

"I'm more of a shades-of-grey type," Dark replied, though she could tell from his expression that he was insulted.

They fell silent. At length, Midna said, as an apology, "With your help, I'll be able to restore a stable government in Twilight. I have to start with that if Twilight is to play any real role in the war. Besides, I'm sure there's a way to give the people a voice while still ensuring that they don't push the country towards a precipice…"

Dark pursed his lips. "A philosopher might argue that, if the people want to tumble and collapse, that's their prerogative."

Midna's lips curled at the corners a little. "I didn't take you for a philosopher."

"I'm not," Dark smirked, shooting her a fleeting look. "I'm just saying. What makes you so sure that the people want your help?"

She shot him a searching look, seeking the betrayal in his eyes and finding nothing but honest inquiry. Relaxing, she shrugged her narrow shoulders. "I don't know it. It's my duty, and the duty of my whole lineage before me, to assume that stability of government is for the best. It ensures continuity, which in turn protects and feeds the people. I'm afraid that they'll impoverish themselves, spending their resources on harmonizing disparate viewpoints."

Dark smiled. "Excuse me while I continue to play the devil's advocate, but if the people want to spend their resources in a way that makes no sense, wouldn't the majority win out?"

"But that's just it: it makes no sense!" Midna exclaimed, frustrated. Feeling a headache come on, she leaned back in her chair. "Well, if it's really their deepest wish, I suppose I'll deal with it when I have the power to. Right now, I have to ensure that Zant Grim doesn't corrupt my people with false promises."

"If that's what you want," Dark said, and once more, Midna thought his warmth was arresting, "I can definitely back you up."

She eyed him with suspicion. Since her meditation in the desert, he had been oddly good. His innuendos were at an all-time low, his appreciative gazes carefully hidden. It was mind-boggling. Unexpectedly, Midna began to think he simply wasn't attracted to her anymore. Not that way. Either he feared her for her use of Magic, or he wanted something and knew how to work things in his favour.

Midna didn't like it one bit. It wasn't exactly pleasant when he was a full-on lecher, but at least she knew exactly what to expect from him. His rules were familiar, his game was understood. Now, she found herself confused by the way he played nice. Too nice. It wasn't the Dark she'd learned to know. For a moment she considered running her hand up his thigh to reassure herself she still had an effect on him, to try and find an anchor she understood in their new dynamic.

But that wasn't befitting of a princess of Twilight, especially not one whose sole purpose was to reclaim her throne.

So she averted her gaze and stared hard out of the window, watching as the daylight grew and the sands went from yellow to orange to a dull, pinkish purple. Some speculated the dunes of Twilight were made of tiny specks of amethyst mixed with ordinary pink sand, giving it its peculiar, ethereal colour. Morning was rising, the dawn casting pink light.

The desert here wasn't composed of the red silicates oxides of Samasa and Gerudo. The warmth wasn't as stifling, either, with a shifting cloud cover obscuring the sun. The vegetation was sparse despite the temperatures, a reality explained, some said, by the evil acts perpetrated by the Sheikah exiles over a millennia ago. The same general feeling of darkness hung about everything, from the mines to the towns, a lingering chill Midna found strangely comforting. Perhaps, in a way, the Twili were naturally corrupted, from their Sheikah ancestry, to like the gloom.

Now and again, lazy warmth from the sun peeking through the clouds sufficed to keep the inhabitants from being outright cold, but the absence of any direct light made their pale skin tone almost blue.

Agriculture wasn't easy. Vast farms of hardy, if dry, desert plants and mosses made up the majority of its crops. Most of the food production came from livestock, with local species mostly processed for their meat. The Twili were carnivores for lack of choice. Most other food products were imported from Hyrule, Holodrum or Calatia, but rarely fresh and often second-grade.

Twilight's main export was mineral, with some compounds prepared on-site. Metal and rock were exported across all of Hylia, from iron to precious gemstones.

Twilight was also the Graveyard of the World, a title it had earned for its general atmosphere and the excellent preservation of all bodies buried in its sands. The Sheikah had made themselves guardians of the dead, for conducting inhuman experiments in the pursuit of knowledge, and the area around Nightfall, the capital, was riddled with stone tombs and dry graves. Because bodies were so well-kept in the dry, dark sands of Twilight, and perhaps because of some fanciful notion that the country's name and history were an indicator of a fitting resting place, the people of Hylia had come there for centuries in their dying days, feeding the industry of death in a way no amount of marketing could achieve.

There was also a source of revenue Midna had known all about, and even profited from, without officially condoning it: drugs. Lots and lots of them. There was, in the northwest, a deposit of a mineral that, combined with various chemicals, induced a state of apparent waking while leaving the user feeling utterly spent and relaxed. Side-effects were still wholly unknown, but cases of frothing, lethargic overdose had come to her attention. Midna hadn't used the compound, but she couldn't deny that the country benefited from its export. Holodrum mainly, along with some areas of Waker and Termina, consumed it with an eagerness Midna thought unreasonable. But the drug had paid for hospitals and a large part of Twilight's schools, with drug barons wishing to give their families the best possible conditions.

Zant had pressured for a legalization of the drug and its related activities, which would become accessible to all for 'entertainment' reasons, like alcohol. Unsure of its effects and knowing that Zant spoke with the bias of someone who sold it, Midna had skirted the issue. Now, she considered legislation against it would have perhaps slowed him down.

Or propelled him. It was impossible to guess.

"You're worried about something," Dark guessed.

Midna sighed. "I'm just wondering if there ever was another way."

"There's no point in mulling over the past."

"Easy for you to say," Midna mumbled. "You don't really have one." It was petty, but she was trying to provoke him, to stir some of his familiar anger.

It didn't work. He simply stared straight ahead and said, "You can't change what happened. Zant's rise, Ganondorf Dragmire's influence, the Twili people's decision, none of it. You should focus on your next move instead."

"Is that all you do? Focus on your next move?" Midna snarled. "You never see the bigger picture?"

Dark shot her an annoyed look. "Listen, I know you're upset, and I'm flying as fast as I can, but if I push it, our fuel reserves will deplete quickly."

"That's not it. You're what bothers me."

Dark smirked, and for the briefest of moments, he was what she expected: "I know, I have that effect."

Her stomach in knots, her hands shaking, Midna wasn't sure what to say. At length, she ventured, "You're different. What's going on?"

He didn't glance her way. Staring hard ahead at the dunes and the horizon, he said, "I don't know. Have I grown horns?"

"Dark."

The seriousness in her voice made him look. Their eyes met and he was speechless for a split-second, then looked back out again. His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "I'm fine. We both have a lot on our minds, and your problems take precedence. No point putting mine out too."

"You can at least tell me."

"No." At this, his usual impish smile returned. "I don't think I should." He beamed at her. "But I will. In due time."

Midna eyed him critically for a long moment. "So… I can trust you?"

Dark motioned to the aircraft they were sitting in. "Honey, I'm a naval officer and I learned to fly a Flit for you. If that's not proof enough, I don't know what is."

His eyes were bright in the golden dawn light, casting his reddish-brown eyes with an otherworldly glow. Midna remembered, despite herself, what he'd looked like in the hotel room where she'd locked him up. And, as though to upset her further, she remembered those same eyes, hard with anger, through dust and debris in Ingo's workshop, and her whole body ached with the memory.

Deep down, unbidden, she prayed for strength. The more she surrendered to him, the less she wanted to know his true motives. He was firm and reliable and darkly intelligent. If he abandoned her at this time of dire need, she would effectively be at the mercy of both the Guardians and the Hylian Alliance. If he was a double-agent, if he meant her any harm, she was too dependent on him to make it out unscathed.

Her heart, which she'd steeled with years of practice and mourning for close friends, felt stretched and strained with desperate hope that he was telling the truth. It had been so long since she'd last had a friend. Zelda Harkinian, before the war, had been too sheltered and too removed to truly understand Twilight's politics. Now, Midna absently reflected, the princess of Hyrule undoubtedly had a firm notion of the heart-rending pain caused by civil war.

What of the others? When, one by one, rulers of Hylia had joined Ganondorf Dragmire's campaign, Midna had watched, as through a sheet of ice, as her country forced her to align with a concept that would make her obsolete, all because Zant Grim wanted it. The trials and tribulations of other nations seemed secondary. She had heard Ruto Watters' desperate swan song, had seen her old acquaintances turn on each other with a violence she didn't feel. Even Zelda, who had seemed so removed… Until then, Midna had assumed the young woman was simply shell-shocked, too young and inexperienced to understand.

Now, she saw. Zelda Harkinian probably knew more than anyone how much the war would cost her, should she lose. It was enough to paralyze anyone, let alone the lone descendant of a dynasty so old it had spanned over a millennium, shaping the continent more than any other power before it.

Not for the first time, Midna wondered if it was all worth it.

"We're approaching Nightfall," Dark observed, drawing her out of her sad reverie.

On the horizon, the capital of Twilight looked like a dark mass of blue-grey buildings. There were few colours in the centre of the city, where the older buildings dated back to a grimmer time. As the city stretched out in every direction, fighting against the dunes, it grew more and more colourful, until the outer rings looked like any other desert town, Samasa, perhaps, with bright neons and changing clamour.

But the centre, the Palace of Twilight, was ominous and dark, as it had been since first it had risen out of the purple sands. Its towers were large blocks of what looked like solid obsidian, mixed in with glass and gloomy ornamentation. Whether it had been designed to look so intimidating was lost to the ages: it served its purpose and conveyed Midna's usual mood better than anything else. Any visiting diplomats were easily put off by the ominous, dark look. She liked it that way, when they all glanced at each other, concerned, and she could sweep down in her long Twili garb, flowing like the shadows themselves, and invite them in. The worry in their eyes made them malleable, and the grand halls, the hard angles, the high echoing ceilings all played their part.

"Never been here," Dark said, snapping her out of her contemplation once more. "Your people sure have a dramatic flair." He shot her a smirk, and she couldn't help but smile back. That was one way of saying it.

They flew over the outer rings, and Midna saw the slow, languid pace of the crowds below them. The streets were always filled with long shadows. The sun never rose very high in Twilight, for some reason, as though it feared to show its face.

"Where would you like to land?"

She considered the question. It didn't feel right to just land at the Palace. It would be quick, for sure, but it wouldn't be safe and secret. The outer rings were out of the question. It would be too far away in an emergency. She considered Dark and his uniform, and said, "Please put in a request at the airport. They're to the southeast of the Palace, and they'll grant you access. Don't tell them I'm on board just yet."

"Is there no one you trust?" Dark said, veering smoothly to obey.

Midna didn't answer. She didn't know. She had allies, but time away made her doubt. Nightfall was no longer strictly her city. It was hard to think of it as a simple matter of trust. Perhaps her allies were still trustworthy, but there was no telling. And, Midna feared, if Zant had returned before her, there would no doubt be rumours flying about. The greatest fear she had, to be honest, was that her allies would no longer trust her, not the other way around.

Until she restored herself to the throne that was still rightly hers, she would call on no favours. Maybe the favours would cost her more than she could afford.

"I have no one I trust more than you right now," Midna finally conceded. Dark seemed pleasantly surprised, but he saw her grim expression and rolled his eyes.

"It's not a death sentence, you know."

"I don't mean to imply that it is," she grumbled. He was grinning at her, the insufferable ass.

"I'd hate to see what you look like when you're actually angry," he said.

"I spit fire," she flatly said, and couldn't hold in a small smile when he barked with laughter.

The radio crackled. Dark picked up the inquiry from the port. She half-feared he'd betray her, but he played his part admirably, requesting a landing pad and a safe hangar, listing his rank and name.

There was no immediate response. The radio silence filled the cockpit for a long while, until Dark frowned and hailed the signal again, ready to repeat his request.

But the answer came through. '_Clear to land, pad 3-1, captain. Welcome to Nightfall._'

Midna let out a breath she didn't know she'd been holding. Even Dark looked relieved in some measure. He started looking for the pad, seeking the large 31 painted on its surface. In the great wind-swept platforms of the airport, the pads were numbered by row and number. He landed on the pad squarely, safely, securely. It was a manoeuvre he'd had ample time to practice by now, and there were no adverse winds, no updrafts, no enemy fire. When the landing gear finally touched ground, Midna hurried to get out of her seat. She turned to Dark, who was unbuckling his seatbelt, and said, "I'll be in the back. Please, let me choose the moment to come out."

"Alright," he said, smiling easily, and Midna felt her knees weaken somewhat. She chose a dark recess in the back of the cargo shuttle, letting the shadows cloak her. From her hiding spot, she couldn't see Dark when he opened the sliding door and stepped out, but the welcome party's voices came through loud and clear through the frame of the aircraft.

"Ensign Knight. Welcome to Nightfall. Please lay down all your arms and put your hands up in the air."

"I'm sorry," Dark said, a smile audible in his voice despite the obvious disquiet that his tone betrayed, "but I'm quite sure I'm a captain of the Guardian naval forces. To whom do I owe the pleasure?"

"I am Lieutenant Obney. Our files have you listed as demoted, by order of Zant Grim. You are to submit quietly and come in for interrogation."

Midna's stomach rose to her throat. Outside, she could almost feel Dark fighting to keep his composure. The smile in his voice sounded forced when he continued, "I'm sure it's a misunderstanding. Zant Grim isn't an officer of the Guardian Army."

"Please put down your weapons and follow me, Ensign." Lieutenant Obney shot a command to one of those who no doubt accompanied him. "Take his weapon and cuff him."

It had been a trap. The guilt that gripped her was overwhelming and awful. Dark, in the hands of the enemy, would no longer be of any help. She should have anticipated it. A trap orchestrated to make her reveal herself. She would have no choice but to step in, and she hated Zant Grim then.

"You know, I'm here on orders from―" Dark continued, though there was a clipping sound, and she knew he was helpless to resist the arrest. Her stomach felt like lead. She could almost see him in her mind's eye, his lean frame forced to surrender… by her fault. "Lieutenant―"

"Search the Flit," Lieutenant Obney commanded. "Seize any merchandise for investigation."

"Lieutenant, I really think you should listen to me."

"In due time, Ensign."

"I know where Midna Black is."

Midna's breath caught in her throat. Her hands started to shake. The silence outside of the aircraft was broken only by the pounding of blood in her ears and the wind blowing over the airport. If Dark had chosen to save his skin now, she was doomed. She was doomed. No shadows and corners could save her now.

At length, Obney asked, "And where is she?"

Shadows! Midna nearly lost her balance. She caught herself, but it wasn't without making some noise. One of the men outside noticed it.

"Sir―"

"Look into it," Obney commanded curtly, but he was apparently preoccupied with Dark. "You were saying?"

Shadows, Midna prayed. She hadn't prayed to them this hard since her early childhood. It seemed foreign now. But the shadows weren't. She was so familiar with them; they were like old friends. Shadow Magic was a part of her. She repeated it to herself like a mantra. A big, gloved hand steadied itself on the open door of the aircraft, and Midna felt herself weaken.

"You know," Dark called out, urgently, "when the engine cools it makes that kind of clanking noise." There was a moment of hesitation, and Midna begged the shadows to do what they did best. "Your princess dropped off in the city outskirts. Southwest of the Palace. Said something about a market, and a cemetery. Didn't get the whole thing. She said she had trusted friends."

The gloved hand belonged to a Guardian private. The large man stepped into the Flit, and the air grew close. He filled it up with a terrifying shadow, nearly blocking out all the light.

_Shadows, cloak me_.

His eyes met hers. Midna felt her heart stop.

And then he glanced away, and scanned the whole cargo area in silence, his eyes searching.

Then, he turned and exited, and she heard his voice say, "She's not in there."

A bubble of relief nearly made her giggle, but she managed to keep holding onto her breath. The shadows slipped from her, like water sluicing off. She was certain there was relief and confusion in Dark's voice when he said, "Well, of course she isn't there. That's what I'm saying, Lieutenant. I dropped her off. She had me at gunpoint."

"Zant Grim says you shot him in Samasa, Ensign. You're still under arrest. Follow me and be quiet. Adno, take a team of five and report to the southwest district. Princess Midna Black is to be brought into our custody alive, by order of the Artificial Design."

"Yessir."

"Wait," Dark said, but Midna heard he was being forcefully dragged away, "what about my Flit?"

"You're a naval officer," Lieutenant Obney said, with a tone of dark humour. "I'm sure you can live without an aircraft."

Now that he wasn't covering for her anymore, Dark could draw on his military rank. "Lieutenant. I am a _captain_ of the Guardian Coalition. I didn't get that title without merit. Until Midna Black turned on us, I assumed she was with us. I was protecting her from the Artificial Design―"

"The Artificial Design is the first power of Twilight. The monarchy is through. Zant Grim is now one of the Guardian Coalition's top commanders."

Lead in her stomach. That was the only feeling she had. The usurper!

"So―" Dark hesitated, "what will you do with the princess?"

"Don't concern yourself with that. Zant Grim will want you court-martialed for the injury you caused him."

"He was going to kill―"

"Silence!"

A dull thud and a grunt hurt Midna's very heart. They had struck Dark. He hadn't deserved it.

"Take him to the holding cells and call the Design. He has personal business with Ensign Knight."

She drew on her courage. She had succeeded with her cloak just now. No doubt about it. It might not work in the dawn light, but she couldn't stay here. They would seize the Flit and someone was bound to bump into her if she stayed put.

She had naively thought the country would wait for her. She had foolishly believed she had nothing left to lose. But the last friend she had was walking away, bound and in danger. Zant Grim would hurt him. Zant Grim would return his injury tenfold. She wasn't going to let that happen.

_Not anymore_. Resolution filled her with anger. She was easy to anger these days.

_Shadows, I am the last ruler of Twilight. I will not suffer this realm to fall to the Guardian armies_. Dark Knight was her strength, her crutch. He needed her. Zant Grim was going to kill him when he was done.

No more pain. No more despair.

_Shadows_, she prayed to herself. _No more despair_.

She drew her cloak from the obscure corners. The dawn light cast long shadows across the airfield and landing pads. The shadows wrapped themselves around her, cool and dark, shimmering where the light hit them. For a moment, she hesitated, but when she held her hand up in front of her, she only saw a shimmer, and the ground, through it.

No more despair, she repeated to herself, invigorated with hope.

She stepped out of the Flit, slipping by the soldiers left behind. They blinked, but did not make a sound. She held in a satisfied laugh. Nimbly, she hurried after the distant figures of Lieutenant Obney, Dark, and his two guards. Though the sun angled oddly against her, no one seemed to notice.

To ensure the shadows remained, she slowly fed them her own energy. She liked to think her anger was enough, but the exchange had to be fair. She wouldn't be able to hold the cloak indefinitely.

Dark was cuffed, and he was silently following the men, his expression brooding. She kept her distance to be silent, but when Obney spoke, his voice carried well.

"I have orders to take you to a Grave."

Dark looked angry. "Don't you think I should be dead first?"

Obney laughed coolly. "The Graves are the palace cells. You won't like them any better, I think."

"Great." Dark bristled somewhat, and shot a look over his shoulder, as much as he could, and though he stared unseeingly, his eyes fell on her. She desperately wanted to signal him, but to do so would have blown her only chance for secrecy. She smiled grimly and kept a safe distance.

In the end, the distance was her downfall. The men reached the Palace, and entered through a side entrance she had never had to use. There was a security checkpoint there, where they removed Dark's belongings ―what few he'd taken with him: one handgun, his bootlaces, his belt, his wallet with all his identity cards― and they ushered him through a door.

She couldn't slip in fast enough. She watched the door swing shut, her stomach in her throat, and stood, invisible, in the middle of the entrance hall, with security guards packing Dark's belongings in a small box.

"Why are we bothering?" One of the men asked. "He won't come back to claim them."

His companion shuddered. "I don't know. But don't question. You know Grim doesn't like questions."

Midna watched them, helpless. After a moment, the first guard lowered his voice and said, "You know the guy they brought in before yesterday? They took him back out in five separate boxes last night."

"Sands. What did he do?" The second guard looked uncomfortable and adjusted his collar, now too tight around his neck. His particular Twili tan made him look sickly pale.

"Dunno. I heard Grim laughed the whole time he was down there with him. The guy wasn't laughing along." The euphemism was underlined by a pointed look.

"Sands..."

Both guards fell silent. At length, the first said, "You ever get the feeling the dead are watching?"

Midna averted her eyes. The exit doors swung open, another soldier walking in. She didn't linger. She'd find another way in, one that wasn't so heavily guarded. She slipped out, melting into the long morning shadows of the Palace. She had a perfect cloak. She could do it in time. No more despair.

No more despair, she repeated to herself, willing herself to believe it was achievable. Her hands shook. Her breath came in rasps now she wasn't holding it anymore. Her heart was beating wildly.

She realized her cheeks were wet.


	27. 2-10 - The Volunteer

**I know, I know, it's been a while. Holidays and all. I'm back to my regular schedule now, though.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 10: THE VOLUNTEER**

* * *

><p><em>26<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Gate District_

"Are you sure this is safe?"

Zelda eyed Shad over her shoulder, not quite exasperated. The sun was at its zenith, the sky deceptively blue, the streets were bustling with frantic activity, and they were following Tetra Pirates, who strode easily down the curved streets of Windfall. No one paid them any attention. Even Wulf, on his leash, was behaving, his tongue lolling.

"I single-handedly stole and crashed a Flit into Hyrule field. I think we're substantially safer now that that's over with."

Shad eyed the princess, stunned. Then, unexpectedly, he started to smile. "You've changed."

She smiled, briefly, then remembered that the times were dire, and assumed a graver look. "I think the sea air agrees with me."

Shad suppressed his own smile, but his eyes still shone in amusement. "I'm sure when the war is over, you can come back on vacation."

"Perhaps." She let the prospect hang. The war's end seemed unlikely any time soon.

"Miss Zelda," Tetra called over her shoulder, "I hope you don't mind, but I've asked Ashei Snow to join us. She means to meet the leaders of the civilian resistance anyhow." She lowered her tone, and shot quick, darting looks to passers-by, before confessing, "I believe she wants some of the civilian outposts further west to put up a fight when the enemy ships come within range."

"I defer to her tactical judgment," Zelda politely said.

Tetra looked disappointed by the bland remark. "Is that it?"

Zelda suppressed another smile. She was smiling a lot more now that she felt she had a purpose. "I've assured Miss Snow I'd give her a say in how we deploy Hyrulian troops. I want our efforts to be coordinated, and she knows the waters of Waker better than I do."

She didn't have to look back to know Shad was displeased. He didn't like that Hyrule was submitting to Waker, but the renewed sense of purpose he saw in Zelda played its part: he kept quiet.

"If it's not too indiscreet," Tetra asked, slowing down to walk apace with the princess of Hyrule, and everything about that would have been unheard of in any other court, "how many ships do you think Hyrule will send?"

Zelda didn't want to reply. The full truth was that she didn't know. Rauru and Auru wouldn't like her demand. Renado might talk some sense into them, but she wasn't sure how much that sense would be worth. "I pledged a dreadnought. That, at least, I can guarantee. My stewards would not make me lie deliberately. For the rest…" She hesitated. "Well, I asked for commanders and captains of experience. The resources they require are significant."

"We're hoping for squadrons of dogfighters and Flits," Shad elaborated. "But the odds of them showing up are slim."

Tetra looked disappointed, but she soldiered on. "Even a dreadnought on its own will be welcome."

Zelda nodded, wishing she could promise more. The request she'd sent last night to the Citadel would have reached its destination sometime before lunch. She hoped the stewards didn't dally in sending help. The ships, even flying at full speed, would barely make it on time. If the enemy aerial strike was as powerful as many feared, the forces might not even make it into Windfall airspace.

"We're almost there," Tetra said, snapping Zelda out of her thoughts.

The neighbourhood was rundown, but almost electric with life. On the sidewalks, children of all ages were dirt-smeared and watchful. The adults bustling by carried wood and metal and planks and tools and food and―

"Many factories on the harbour have been turned into barracks for now," Tetra said. The harbour was overflowing with ships being prepped. There weren't enough docks, and the navy ships were tethered to one another, making a town of rocking decks and gangplanks. Waker soldiers were practising drills, testing their equipment and, for some, drinking heavily. Shad shot Zelda a look, but she shook her head. It wasn't for them to refuse these men their fun if they were about to look down the gun battery of an enemy battleship… even though it was only noon.

It was a testament to the discipline and goodness of the Waker people that even heavily inebriated soldiers kept to themselves, bothering no one.

There was a plaza in the middle of the harbour strip, with a mosaic worn out and discoloured by time and countless feet. On one end of the plaza, some of the biggest wharfs of the island stretched out into the ocean. Dominating the plaza was a large factory with a big clock-face. It was an old brick construction, with dirty windows and artificial lighting that hung from its aged ceiling. The wide, tall doors were open, and a steady flow of people entered and exited, some, looking harried, others, strolling slowly. There were sharply designed, boldly-coloured billboards plastered over the façade, as high as a tall person could reach, on both sides of the doors and in the windows, advising passers-by on what measures they should take for preparation. 'Don't be daft, prep a raft' was the more ominous one, she thought, but reports on the fate of Great Fish did little to disprove the wisdom of that particular advice. Others shouted 'Food for your brood, shelter for your brothers' over the picture of a handsome young man dressed in combat fatigues, or 'Save the bullet to shoot your enemy' or 'Blood, love and loyalty for your home'. There were instructions on how to make water drinkable, advice on how to ration food, posters inciting to donate clothes and fabric to the army, and, above all, the most numerous posters were the persuasive, 'Don't let despair win. Join the CR.'

The Civilian Resistance headquarters, then. Zelda felt nervous. Her stomach knotted. Unbidden, memories of Link Forester floated into her mind. She shook them off. Princesses and empresses were above all that, whatever 'that' was.

Ashei Snow was already there. When Zelda, Wulf, Shad and Tetra passed the doorstep, they entered into a veritable hive of activity. In the middle of it all, Ashei Snow was coolly answering questions on procedure and logistics. People flocked to her, then hurried away with their answers, making way for more to move in. Tetra excused herself, hurrying to Ashei's side. Shad and Zelda were left in the bright ray of sunlight that poured into the artificial gloom of the factory. Long tables were set all over the immense building. Overhead, on suspended metal walkways, some civilians were taking a break, looking down on the bustle with a bottle or a sandwich in their hand. Some were seated, their legs dangling between the bars into the emptiness. Others were lying down, perhaps napping.

Because she was looking up, she failed to notice those on the ground floor. Suddenly, something bumped into her, or perhaps she had leaned too far. Hands reached out to catch her arms, to steady her. The hands were distinctly male, tanned and firm.

Her eyes flew to the man's face.

Link's face changed with recognition. He hastily let go of her arms, and she realised how warm his hands had been, but he made up for her sudden feeling of loss by smiling broadly. It was such a disarmingly sincere smile she was at a loss. Infectiously, she smiled in return.

Wulf, for his part, bounced excitedly, greeting Link with a wagging tail and a nudge of his nose. He still behaved, and never jumped on people. That would have intimidated more than a few. Link scratched the dog's chin, and the tail wagged all the more excitedly.

Remembering himself, Link saluted. "I'm sorry I ran into you."

"Not at all," Zelda breathed, trying not to smile quite so much, trying so hard to feel normal, trying so much to be pleasant, and only partly caring about why that was so important. "I wasn't looking―"

"Miss Zelda," Tetra called out.

Link and Zelda turned as one. He wasn't dressed with his military uniform anymore, Zelda absently noted, and wore instead the relaxed clothes of a Waker civilian. She couldn't decide which attire fit him best. Tetra joined them with a smile.

"Ashei says she can handle most of the demands. Shad is helping out. Is there anything more I can do for you?"

It only then occurred to Zelda that in the short span of time, Shad had left her side and gone to help Ashei. The two were politely arguing again. She tried not to roll her eyes.

Zelda had asked Tetra to take her to the people. On that, Tetra had most certainly delivered. The factory turned into Civilian Resistance HQ was without a doubt the place to be right now.

"I should find a way to make myself useful," Zelda slowly said, though it dawned on her, looking at the various tables of seamstresses at work, and the engineers arguing about motor parts, and the cooks chopping vegetables, and the accountants calculating costs, and the people poring over maps, that she didn't know a thing about practical work.

Panic seized her gut.

On the far side of the factory, she saw Sheik Strike and Malon Ranch discussing something with a huge, muscled man. In actuality, it looked like the big man was trying to inch onto Malon, and Sheik was gesticulating, clearly displeased. Next to them, Colin Blade was laughing about the theatrics with a cute blonde girl with twin braids. The girl's eyes flew over to them, and met Link's. She waved enthusiastically. Link cheerfully waved back.

Zelda felt like an outsider. She had always been. It was perplexing, and smarted only a little by now. Still, what she would have done to trade places with that girl, just for one day.

Children came up to Wulf, and the giant dog let them approach, tongue lolling. He didn't mind the hesitation in their touch, and rolled onto his stomach playfully. Zelda felt somewhat better. Let Wulf take the brunt of the attention for now…

"I― uh," Link started, back to being awkward as he turned to look down at her, "I was working with Kidd to help match people. If you want to meet people, you can join me. It's basically, well, people come to us and we look through our registries to find their children, or their parents, or their spouses. It's stressful work, but―"

"It'll be good for people to see a princess work on something with emotional weight," Tetra agreed. "It's perfect." She shot Zelda a look that could probably be qualified as mildly fiendish. "It'll also give you the perfect opportunity to discuss Hyrule's military with Mr. Forester. It might be good to get an insider's perspective."

"Yes," Zelda shot her a flat look. "Thank you, Tetra."

Link Forester's idea had merit, though, and she followed him. With the consent of the people nearby, she tied Wulf to a column, making sure he was within sight. The dog was like a puppy again, getting all the attention he could possibly want.

Link lead her to a short table, where several volunteers were leafing through thick registry books. Zelda noticed Kidd, the quiet, withdrawn orphan, writing down names. There were a few lines, some identified as a Registration line, and others as Searching.

"It's mandatory for every new arrival in Windfall to register with us. The names are sorted by address, or, failing that, by home island," Link explained. He lead her behind the table, receiving some curious looks, but few people asked questions.

"Us?" She couldn't help but remark on his new loyalty.

"Oh, uh, yes, the Civilian Resistance." His eyes flew to the other end of the factory floor, landing on the blonde girl with braids. "My sister introduced me to it."

"She is your sister?" She was genuinely pleased to hear it. "I'm glad you found your family, captain."

He shot her a warm look. "It's luck, I think." His sombre look told her more than he knew.

"Is your home island…?"

"Great Fish wasn't alone," Link said, and Zelda felt true sorrow for him.

"I am really sorry for your loss," she intoned, instinctively reaching out to touch his arm. She halted her movement when his eyes followed her hand, and an eternity seemed to pass between them. His eyes were blue, and she wanted to believe she saw longing there. At length, she cleared her throat and retracted her hand. "If there is anything I can do to help you, let me know."

"Thank you, your highness."

"I knew it!"

The sudden voice pulled them out of the moment again. Zelda was beginning to dislike that. Link stepped in front of her somewhat, perhaps to protect her. He was broad-shouldered. She looked beyond his arm, ignoring the heat radiating off him and the simple soap smell of his clothes and skin. He always smelled clean, no more, no less. She liked thinking that the smell of his skin made him different from perfumed, pompous aristocrats. Shad always wore cologne, and though it wasn't an overbearing smell...

"I knew she was a royal."

The man speaking was short and clad in green. He looked at her genially, drawing odd stares from everyone within hearing range.

"Thank you for the broadcast, Purlo," Link flatly said. He relaxed a little. He turned to her, and she tried to ignore how blue his eyes were. They were sharp and searching. His silent question made her heart race, not because of what he was asking, but because he was bothering to ask at all.

"Thank you, Link." It was frustrating how easily she fell back into the royal role, how the plastic smile shaped her face and made the words come comfortably. She put a practised hand to his arm, the touch light and impersonal, and stepped out in front of him, to come face to face with the short man named Purlo. For the benefit of their audience, she spoke as clearly as she could without raising her voice. "It's a pleasure to be here. I am Princess Zelda of Hyrule, heir to the Hylian empire, and, until further notice, a volunteer of the Civilian Resistance."

Purlo was like putty. She didn't meet a lot of true civilians, but the few she did meet had any number of reactions, from shock to awe to adoration. Some were more withdrawn, but she had never been mistreated in public. She suspected today would be no different.

"It is an _honour_ to meet you, your royal highness," Purlo reverently said, reaching out, as if to grab both her hands, but a glance up at Link over her shoulder stopped his movement short. Bumbling, he added, "If there is _anything_―"

The light laughter was rehearsed too. "Please, I am here to serve. It will not do to have anyone waiting on me." She turned to Link, who was watching her with a guarded expression. "I'm sure, with Link's guidance, I will find my way around and be helping out in no time."

This statement was met with silence, with volunteers awkwardly switching their weight. Zelda feared the stretch of silence. It meant a lot she didn't want to deal with: her incompetence, her presumption, her―

"Link! I have a whole new registry complete. Maybe you can transfer it."

As one, Link and Zelda turned to Kidd, who was holding a large book. He was eyeing the princess with his usual, guarded look, but for the first time, Zelda thought she felt a new sort of kinship with him. He had addressed Link, but he was looking at her.

It's now or never, his eyes screamed.

Before Link could muster words, she had rushed forward, and plucked the book from his hands with a smile. It was heavy and leather-bound. She hoped he saw her gratitude, but he merely nodded and awkwardly turned away, going back to his post.

Link sprung into action. "Yes. Right. This is a registry for Stone Watcher Island. Right this way." He lead her to the tables behind the front desks. Just like that, everyone quietly went back to work. There was no major difference from then on, save for the straighter postures and several, periodic glances.

"When the people register," Link explained, "they're sorted. As I said. We try to get a fixed address for them, so that if someone tries to contact them, they can do it the same day. We have a lot of refugees that come and go, so it's not always possible." Zelda nodded. He hesitated. "It's important to write down their full name. Um, you probably knew that."

She tried not to smile, but her lips twitched. He let out a heavy breath, and his shoulders sagged.

"I'm sorry, I've just― I never had to train―"

"Link." She motioned for him to calm down. "I am just a volunteer. This is your home country. This is your home. I want to help. You have to tell me."

He eyed her, his expression unreadable. Eventually, he sighed. "Yes. I'm sorry. Here." He opened one of the books. "Now, the first column is for militia. If they have an identification number, we write it down. The second column is the full name. Last name first, in capital letters. We try to keep them sorted by last name, as much as possible. The alphabetical order is on the page edge. It makes for quick consultation later. We also write down their original address, and their current address. The Registrar's line― where Kidd is working― fills out the books then transfers them to the searchers. That's the hardest part of the job." He motioned to the line-ups of tried, worried people. "They all lost someone. They want to find out if they came through Windfall."

"Have you managed to reunite many people?" Zelda asked, her voice low.

Link smiled. "We have." His eyes, in memory, focused on a point between the table and the people in line. "A lot of siblings and parents, mostly." He focused on her again. "It's a real reward to organise the meet-up. The toughest matches to confirm are with soldiers… and people from wrecked islands."

Again, a shadow of pain passed over his face, and Zelda chose not to speak. He composed himself and said, "The Zoras have had the hardest time of it. They have their own support circle." He motioned vaguely, indicating the northeast. "They're on the harbour, below the Gate district. If a Zora comes for help, we refer them to that neighbourhood regardless of actual matches here. We do the best we can for them, and then we send them on their way. They seem to need the… uh, closure of being together in mourning."

Zelda nodded. Her throat felt tight. She tried not to think about the massive loss Great Fish was to the Zora people.

"Soldiers are a whole other protocol," Link continued. Now that he was comfortable with explaining things, he was cool and collected, and methodical. "We have some who are currently deployed. We try to keep their files as up-to-date as possible, but you have to stress to all enquirers that it's inaccurate and an estimation at best. We don't want to raise false expectations. The soldiers might still die, or be MIA, or… well, there are too many unknowns."

She nodded again.

"Well," Link said, "I think the best exercise will be to get started." He showed her a tall stack of loose registry pages. "The binding on the book holding these wore out and they fell out yesterday. We're trying to get them sorted."

"I can do that," she said. "Island of origin, then last name."

"Yes. Um, if that's alright with you."

She smiled. She _could_ do this. "I'm glad to be of any help."

"I'll be right here if you have any questions," Link assured her. "I'm on query duty."

And, just like that, Zelda started the first job she ever had. The sorting was simple enough, but long and tedious. The number of names she was handling was astounding. She made different piles for each island. On the other side of the table, Link was making frequent walks to and from the front desk, with a list of names. She got used to listening to his voice, even if she wasn't listening to his words. He always had the same concentrated intensity about him, his brows somewhat furrowed, his eyes focused. When he was poring over the books, his lips moved in soundless repetition, his eyes were darting over the pages, his fingers were turning each leaf quickly. When he found what he was looking for, he hurried back to the front desk, and she'd listen to him conversing with others, explaining what he'd found, giving numbers and addresses. Occasionally, she'd look up, and he'd either be apologizing, his face full of sorrow, to a concerned mother, or he'd receive excited hugs from children. On the far wall, Zelda noticed, there were sheets upon sheets of names.

"What are those names on the wall?" She asked, when Link returned, a new query in hand.

He turned to look over his shoulder. Then, slowly, he said, "Those are the names of the confirmed dead. It's updated regularly."

Zelda looked at the lists with a new sense of loss. So many names spread over hundreds of sheets…

Link saw her expression and said, "Don't let those get to you. It's rough to look at, at first, I know."

She averted her eyes, and focused on the sheets again. "Thank you for letting me help."

"Thank you for helping," Link awkwardly replied. "You didn't have to. No one expected you to."

"I'd be a poor ruler indeed if I didn't do everything I could." She hesitated, then said, "I asked Hyrule to send ships to support Waker. Until they get here, I'm effectively useless."

"Not useless," Link said, softly, his eyes falling back to the registries. "You are the best excuse I could ever hope for to find my family again." He shot her an easy smile.

Zelda glanced over to the far end of the factory again. Malon and Sheik were changing the oil in an engine and greasing the wheels. It looked like a small locomotive. It wasn't on rails, but it was clearly fitted to go onto a set of tracks. Sheik was frowning, but Zelda noticed the few glances he shot Malon. Malon did not notice.

To the side, Colin was discussing with the blonde girl. Link's sister. Link hadn't mentioned her name.

"… Link _Forester_."

The way the name was said was slow and officious. Zelda turned. She hadn't noticed the man come in. He was the same tall, broad-shouldered man who had evidently annoyed Sheik earlier. Bright red hair ―a fake colour― and heavy-lidded pale eyes, his face wasn't conventionally handsome, but he had wide shoulders, and carried himself with unusual confidence.

Her eyes darted to Link, whose expression was strained into a patient smile.

With hardly a glance for her, the tall red-haired man threw an arm around Link's shoulders― effectively demonstrating his size by comparison.

"Groose," Link acknowledged, his eyes meeting hers with a mix of humour and exasperation. She assumed it was because of the demonstrative motions.

"You didn't mention we had a new hire," Groose slowly said, his voice deep and slow and just a little too honeyed for Zelda's taste.

"She's not a hire," Link said, smiling politely. "This is―"

"Princess Zelda Harkinian, of course," Groose said, making Link bite back his words and press his lips together. Groose's arm fell from Link's shoulders, slapped his back firmly once, and, with no further attention for the captain, oozed towards Zelda with a confident, slow stride.

He was putting on a show. She tried not to be impolite by laughing, or outright ignoring him.

"It's an honour to have you work with us… your highness."

"I'm glad I can be of service, Mr. …?"

"Pomp," Groose said, hardly waiting for her to trail off. She thought the name was unfortunate and accurate all at once. "Groose Pomp, milady, leader and forward thinker of the Civilian Resistance on Windfall." He picked up her hand and leaned to kiss it. Link looked mortified. She shot him a look, lips straining not to stretch into a smirk. "It is an honour. Truly."

"You mentioned that," Zelda said, disentangling her hand politely but firmly. She considered asking him who in the world he was to touch her so familiarly, but preferred to let the silence fill the gap and make things awkward instead. She wondered if that intention was ladylike.

Clearly, Groose Pomp was not the kind of man to let awkward silences stop him. "I had heard you were beautiful, but…"

Oh, Skies. She was struggling not to laugh.

"Yes?"

"Well," here, he actually managed to blush, "I didn't think the rumours could be surpassed."

Clearly, the line was rehearsed. She was amazed he could command the blush, though.

"Groose, was there something you needed?"

Link's voice cut through the honeyed air like a sickle. He was eyeing them with mild annoyance.

"Only to introduce myself to our princess," Groose said, innocently. He leaned forward to confide. "Link and I go quite a ways back. He lost many a Flit race to me in our young years. I don't think he's ready for a rematch just yet."

Link rolled his eyes.

Zelda smiled as sweetly as she could and dodged the subject. "I'm sure a Flit race must be exciting to behold."

"Absolutely," Groose said, full of pride. "I make a point of winning as often as possible. It keeps me on my toes."

"I imagine you must have a colourful history with Sergeant Sheik Strike as well. I saw you arguing with him earlier."

Groose had the decency to back off a little, and look uncomfortable.

"I, uh, was introducing myself to his mechanic friend, Malon Ranch."

Zelda raised a brow, and Groose got the hint. At least, he was perceptive. His chest deflated a little, and, with a more direct voice, he nodded and said, "Well, your majesty, if you need anything ―and I mean, absolutely _anything_―" He stressed the point with a firm look she didn't try to understand, "do not hesitate to call me. I am your servant and your best ally on this island."

"I'm sure that's true," Zelda assured him. "Will that be all? I still have work to finish." She motioned to the pages on the table.

"Certainly," Groose said, trying to find something to add, perhaps, and finding nothing. "Well… yes. Right." His back suddenly straightened up again and he said, almost imperiously, "Link! With me."

"What is it?" Link had resumed his search in the registries, and only now paused.

"I'd like to _talk_ to you."

"What, right now?" Link was either stalling for time or trying hard to annoy Groose.

"Yes, _now_. Or do you forget who gave you a job?"

"The Hyrulian military gave me a job," Link muttered, but he still left the registries open and followed Groose some ways away. She couldn't overhear their conversation, but Groose was gesturing a lot more than before, and many a glance were sent her way. Link, for his part, stayed cool and annoyed. Zelda found more entertainment from their mute exchange than she ought to.

"Don't take Groose for anything big."

Her eyes fell to Kidd, who had reached her side. He wasn't speaking to her directly. He was placing more sheets onto the table to be sorted.

He looked at her out of the corner of his eye for a brief second, before adding, "He's not a bad person, but he used to be a bully. Sheik and Link said so."

"I gathered something like that," Zelda smiled. She hesitated, then said, of the pages spread on the table surface, "Thank you for earlier." She had lowered her voice, and said it confidentially. "I didn't give you much of my time before. I'll find a way to repay you somehow…"

"Don't mention it," Kidd gruffly said. "I don't need much."

He shuffled back to his seat at the front desk, tense with discomfort at her gratitude.

Zelda considered. She didn't know much about the boy, except that he was an orphan, and a stowaway, and in search of his brother. She looked at the thousands of pages of names and addresses, and wondered how he hadn't found his brother yet. Maybe… She looked up at the lists of the dead, and worry made her frown a little.

She'd find something to make it up to him.

Her eyes flew over the room again, and she saw Shad discussing heatedly with Ashei. Though the northerner looked tired as usual, there was a heat there when she debated that was otherwise frosty calm. Zelda wondered at that. Shad was a good friend, and a passionate debater, but she didn't think he could actually get a reaction out of Ashei Snow.

"Sorry about that," Link said in a sigh. "Groose is always like that. Dramatic."

"Has Kidd found his brother?" She asked it in as low a voice as she could.

Link looked mildly surprised, and his eyes flew to Kidd, despite himself. "Oh, uh, no. Not yet." He shrugged with a forced smile. "It's an ongoing search."

"Don't you have any more information? Maybe we can…" She trailed off, realising she had no idea what the best methods were.

"He's not exactly forthcoming about it. I only know he'd recognize him if he saw him, that we're talking about a guy with ―last known information― platinum blonde hair and blue eyes like his, and his birth name... Well, Kidd thinks he might have changed his name or identity."

"Why?"

Link shrugged. "I don't know. Kidd says his brother always sent him money while he was at the orphanage, but there was never any return address, and what few letters Kidd got told him not to come looking for his brother. Then, some two years ago, all contact ceased. That's all I know. He's been on the streets since."

Zelda didn't reply. Her gaze slid towards Kidd, who, as usual, looked closed-off, his attention focused on registering a young family. There were children there who looked scared, their cheeks tear-stained.

"Your highness," Link gently started, as she pressed her lips together, forcing her to tear her eyes away to focus on him, "if it's alright…" He lowered his voice, and his brow furrowed in concern. "I was wondering― how is Queen Rutela preparing for the attack?" He darted a nervous look over the busy civilians surrounding them. "I'm all for civilian support," he softly said, "but…"

"She is as ready as one could hope," Zelda assured him. "But, should the battle go awry…"

"It's occurred to me," Link nodded, his expression once again focused and calm. "I have the assent of the others; if you need to leave, you have priority."

She was surprised they had reached a consensus. Her throat felt tight as she glanced back towards Malon and Sheik and Colin―

"What about your family?" She asked, and saw the worry in his frown again.

He forced a shrug. "I can't afford to think of that right now. I am a soldier of the Hylian Alliance. I owe you my loyalty first."

She didn't reply. If she caused him to abandon his family, if they died, he would resent her, regardless of his allegiance.

"We can't surrender Waker," she said, at length, resolutely. He glanced at her. "If Waker falls, so does Hyrule, and Termina, and Minish." She held in a sigh. "If I leave Waker, it will be in victory, or I won't leave at all."

The truth hung low over them, and she felt worry in his stance. Link raised a hand, as though to touch her shoulder. She held her breath; he hesitated, and his hand hung there for a split second.

Quietly, she took his hand, plucking it out of the air where he'd paused, and squeezed it. Their eyes met. He was handsome, and strong, and comforting. She wished she had the liberty of saying it. Her eyes would have to do the telling.

If he was troubled or upset, he hardly let it show. She appreciated that.

At length, he shifted her grip, until her fingers were clutched against his palm. He gave her hand a brief squeeze of his own, his eyes bright with something she couldn't recognize, something that made her feel alive and warm and safe. Then, he smiled, and dropped her hand, and returned to his post.

And Zelda, her hand tingling, her heart pounding in her ears, finally knew what the early onset of love felt like.


	28. 2-11 - The Turncoat

**This chapter contains some crucial information, so it's at least twice as long as the others. OHWELL. **

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><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 11: THE TURNCOAT**

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><p><em>27<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Calatia, New Kasuto<br>Southeast airspace_

The large airship Nabooru and Vaati had commandeered from Ghirahim was difficult to manoeuvre, but it was quick and fuel efficient and, especially, it handled high altitudes well. As they were deep in Hylian Alliance's lands, they had hurried through the mountains, dodging patrols and control towers, sometimes with close-calls. The Snowhead Mountains had been a peaceful ride, but when they had swerved westward towards the Death Mountain and Crenel Mountain ranges, one of the highest and most travelled mountain areas in the world between the imperial country of Hyrule and the industrious country of Minish, the tension had been palpable. Several times, they had ignored hailing signals. They had even dodged a hunting squadron, lying low between sharp cliffs and under dense vegetation. It had been one of Nabooru's most nerve-wracking flights.

Then, at last, they had reached the Guardian battlefront that cut down into Minish from Calatia. Mount Crenel was an active battlefield to the northwest, and the long, rolling plains in central Minish were almost lunar in their destruction.

Without any markers, all anti-aircraft fire was aimed at them. Vaati had urged her to push the engines. She had pushed the engines, and the aircraft had zipped over the battlefield, dodging fire from all sides. From that point on, Nabooru had actively broadcast the Guardian identification codes. The way had been less worrisome then.

The last geographic barrier had been the tired, worn mountains dividing the north of Minish from the southeast of Calatia. The turbulence there was strong, but it was something Nabooru understood. She had nothing more to fear, save what she was carrying with her.

Two days of travel had thus brought them all the way from Termina to Calatia, without any further information on how Ganondorf Dragmire planned to use Goht, the mechanical thing crumbled in heap in the airship's cargo hold. Nabooru was also still worried about flashes she'd occasionally get. A flash had occurred near Death Mountain, like something from far away in her memory. She remembered a Goron lord, and a Zora princess, and a Sheikah woman― though how she could remember a Sheikah, she had no idea― and somehow, _somehow_, Saria the Kokiri child had been there.

She was beginning to suspect that those memories were as much hers as they were all of theirs. She didn't understand who 'they' were, let alone how she knew to trust.

The most upsetting memories were the ones from the desert. Those memories came with a lot of emotions. Fear, anger, sorrow, despair, joy― no matter the sentiment, it was powerful, like a fresh wound, like a new start, like a betrayal.

When she returned from the memories, she was almost always sobbing like a child. She was Nabooru of the Sands! Nabooru Spirit! She wanted to help her people! She wanted to help all people! She wanted to go back to the desert!

And she had confessed, sooner than she'd like, that she felt no kinship to the Guardian Coalition anymore. It was all too new. Even the Hylian Alliance, oddly enough, was not old enough to be relevant, centuries old as it was. Vaati had only nodded in understanding, without a word, with only a hand outstretched. She had babbled, too. The shock, the dichotomy, the others' memories were also as vivid as hers. They weren't hers, but she felt _their_ pain and _their_ loss and _their_ hope too, the intimate love they felt for their lands, for their people, for the light, the fire, the water, the shadows. She felt their love for her, too, their kinship. She longed for it. Those memories were as long-lost brothers and sisters. She missed them, and when she returned to Vaati and the real day, she mourned them again and again and again.

The memories were tearing her apart. Vaati was beginning to notice. He would throw her long, lingering glances, and say nothing, and that silence was telling.

Even now, she struggled to suppress the memory of the Goron and his fierce warmth. She ignored the wise, reasonable sound of the Elder and his luminous insight. She struggled against the memory of Saria laughing and teasing, so full of life she was.

And Vaati noticed. He was flying the craft now, having learned from watching. He didn't trust her to stay fully aware of the present anymore. Maybe he had known all along she would struggle. Maybe it was meant to end one day.

Or maybe it would never end, and he didn't trust her enough to leave her alone. Maybe she was just a vessel for memories, and this was history's torture.

So she stared listlessly out the window, struggling against the memories. Anything could be a trigger now. A cloud, her knuckles, the way the trees swayed in the wind below them. It was exhausting. That she knew the memories weren't hers was of little help. Like a myriad of puzzle pieces of different sizes and weight and colour, she could _almost_ see how they fit together, but as soon as she thought she had a comprehensive picture, they'd blow apart again, and she'd strain to remember where she was.

There was one common element to all the memories, though.

She turned a tired eye to look at Vaati, who was rigidly piloting the airship. He couldn't make the landing and take-off manoeuvres yet. They were the toughest. Thankfully, flying aircrafts didn't trigger memories, so recent the technology was. She could still handle that, mostly.

If he noticed her staring, he didn't acknowledge it. The afternoon rays hit the land with only a faint slant, covering Calatia fields with bright light.

At length, Nabooru asked, "What was the Hero's name?"

For the first time, she thought he looked startled. That was encouraging. Maybe she was beginning to make sense of the memories. Or maybe he was simply surprised she had spoken.

His red Sheikah eyes found her golden ones. His gaze was sharp and intense. Maybe it was that he had red eyes, though. She had always thought that was unsettling. Some Hylians and Twili had reddish eyes, but they always drew from brown irises primarily.

"The Hero?" He let the question hang, then asked, cautiously, "Are you in the present?"

"Yes," she growled, exasperated. The confusion was beginning to eat away at her nerves. "Who was the Hero? Was that in your time?"

Vaati smiled, then. He had an almost impish smile. It reminded her of Dark.

Skies. She missed Dark. She had almost forgotten he existed. That thought filled her with shame. He was a friend.

"I knew a few of them, yes." He was being cryptic again. She didn't like that, but she was beginning to learn he'd speak in good time, if she asked the right questions.

"There were many?" That seemed odd. Her memories didn't account for that. "How many? Was it an order of protectors?"

She knew so little facts. Facts were safe. They explained the emotions. They could explain the sisterly love of Forest and the brotherly love of Fire, or the outright love of Time and Water. They could provide reason for the fatherly love of Light, and the motherly love of Shadow. At the centre of it all, there always was that one Hero. He was young, sometimes, and old, sometimes, and absent, many times, and devoted all the time.

But if Vaati knew there were many…

"It was not an order, no," Vaati corrected her. "There was only ever one Hero at a time. And it is not so much that he was anointed as a Hero. He simply played that role in history."

"But there were many?"

"It is a role, Spirit. I have played the villain before. Yes, time and time again, a Hero rises. You have some memories of him. I have others."

"They all remember him," Nabooru said. "He was in all their lives. Was it all the same Hero? Did they all know a different one?"

"I cannot say," Vaati replied. He didn't look particularly bothered, but he was sincere.

It was confusing again. For a moment, she shut her eyes. A swarm of colour appeared in her mind. She fought against the tide. The memories were powerful. Garbled voices spoke to her as though they echoed from within the Whispering Caves. She gritted her teeth.

"_He's not ready, Sheik. Rauru says―"_

"_I don't care what Rauru says! Haven't you seen the corruption in the clouds near Death Mountain? How long until it reaches Kakariko? How long until it reaches your people? My people…?"_

"_Peace to your heart," the Sheikah woman, a strong-looking warrior with snowy hair, the tattoos below her eyes crinkling in contained impatience, said to her half-masked apprentice. "Your love forgets reason."_

"_I don't _care_!" The young man reached out with a bandaged hand, and threw a vase to the ground. The crash sent broken pieces of ceramic in every direction._

― _And the crash _hurt_._

"_You can't do this." The ice fell in sheets around them, the crashes upsetting, echoing like avalanches. She watched the snow begin to fall. Even her tears started to freeze on her cheeks. Her _people_! They weren't suited to the cold. It froze their blood in their veins, and they hardly shivered, crumbling rigidly to the ground. And still ice formed and fell around them._

_And the monster _laughed_. He laughed at her peoples' death. And the ice gripped her, too, in time, her anger little help. She felt the ice claw at her heart._

_And she remembered the boy clad in the green of fields._

"_Link_!"

The cry had been torn from her lips with a sob of desperation. Nabooru curled over herself, feeling cold and alone and helpless.

"Spirit, remember yourself. You are Nabooru of the Sands. These memories are not yours." Vaati's hand touched her shoulder. He was warm, warm like her homeland, warm like the coarse sand she knew. She felt her heart slow and calm down.

Her eyes finally saw the cockpit. Nothing had changed. Mere seconds, she reminded herself. Her people were safe. No. Water's people were safe. Or maybe they weren't. But it didn't matter now. The memory was from so far away and so long ago…

The sorrow and despair were still close, though, and the wound in her heart still gaped open.

"Who was he, Vaati? Link, the hero?"

"He was what all Hylia needed when it needed it."

"_Who_ was he?"

"It is of little relevance," Vaati carefully explained. "You do not hold his memories. He is not one of the seven kin. He is only a tool, an arm, a hand. He is the forward push, the sword of the seven's will."

"No, it isn't. He isn't. He is more."

Vaati seemed surprised by her vehemence.

"He's more than that," Nabooru said with certainty. "He is the link that ties us all together."

"Yes…" Vaati's voice trailed off, eyes crinkling in some distant memory. "Yes, that was his name."

Link. Yes. _Link_. Nabooru could almost see him, but not really. He was Hylian. He was fair-haired. Like Time. He was clad in green, like Forest, like Saria. He was innocent. He was valiant. He was _courage incarnate, and he walked up the steps of the Temple of Time, and Sheik's heart could scarcely believe it. Here, so near his childhood home, Sheik felt an ache he hadn't felt in years. Seven years. And Link didn't know anything yet. He was blindly devoted. It would not do. He needed more strength._

_Would it truly harm anyone to finally tell him the truth? Courage deserved to know who held Wisdom. And, selfishly, Sheik wanted finally to _hold_ him._

"Who was Sheik? I think― I thought the Sheikah woman was Shadow." It took Nabooru a few seconds to acknowledge she had just witnessed another memory.

"I do not know," Vaati replied honestly. "I was in hiding for a long time. My last incursion on the surface came long after the events you seem to remember."

"No, I remember Shadow's story, too. Sheik was a disguise…"

'_New Kasuto air traffic control. Approaching aircraft, identify._'

Nabooru scrambled to pick up the radio transmitter, and she exchanged seats with Vaati again. She realised then they'd spoken in old Hylian all over again, and it was a struggle to find her words and speak modern Hylian. "This is Captain Nabooru Spirit, of the Guardian Air Force, on mission from Admiral Ganondorf Dragmire. Requesting permission to land."

'_Captain Spirit? Hold._'

She released the broadcasting button, and leaned back. Her gaze met Vaati's. He raised a brow. She shrugged, and began circling the airport, waiting for further instructions.

A new voice crackled onto their radio. '_Captain Nabooru Spirit? This is Byrne Claw, speaking for Chancellor Cole Malladus._'

"Loud and clear," Nabooru replied.

'_We were expecting a package from Termina. Are you still in charge of it?_'

She exchanged looks with Vaati. She then said, "We have the package."

'_Thank you._ _Please land in the private landing zone near the palace._'

That was puzzling, but secrecy was evidently of the essence. "Alright. Thank you."

The radio switched off on its own. Vaati reclined. Nabooru eyed him. As one, they seemed to agree with a look.

"I suppose my new name is Ghirahim," Vaati mused. He seemed to turn the name in his mind over and over, this way and that, and his lips pursed a little, as though he tasted it. Then, after a long moment, he nodded. "It will do."

Nabooru became aware of the partial resemblance between her companion and their assailant. "Hopefully, you won't have to use it for too long."

"Time is a relative thing," Vaati smiled, but he didn't elaborate.

Below the aircraft, New Kasuto, with its modern, shining buildings and curved streets, stretched out. Vaati's red eyes followed every street, somewhat impressed. On a small hill, Kasuto Palace rose up. It had been a fortress before the formation of the Hylian Alliance. Then, one of Seline's ancestors had renovated it, opened it up, destroyed the siege defences and invested in large gardens.

"It's a risk," Nabooru said, on a tangent. "What if someone who knows the real Ghirahim realises you're not him?"

"I can handle myself."

That was another thing. She watched him, and her eyes fell to the sword on his belt. "Um, yes. About that…"

Vaati smiled, and his hand came to rest familiarly on the sword hilt. "The Four Sword. Shadow Magic."

Well, of course. "What isn't anymore?" She grumbled. Then, a thought struck her. "Is that a thing you do? Steal and hold on to magical artifacts to keep people from finding out about them?"

Vaati chuckled. It was a new sound. He was opening up a little, and this first real laugh was low and warm. "If I only could, Spirit. I would be the greatest collector in the world, and any enterprising thief would become too powerful for his own good."

"You could hide the artefacts in secret places, and have some minions guarding them," she joked. Their rate of descent was smooth, and she could almost do it without thinking.

Vaati shook his head, and sighed. "It does not work, believe me."

"Have you tried?" Nabooru laughed.

"There are no contraptions that are entirely determination-proof, trust me," Vaati merely said, refusing to say more. He stood. "I should change out of these clothes." He motioned to his aged clothing. It was far from looking modern, with flaps and folds that hadn't been in fashion for over a century. She nodded in agreement.

"Ghirahim probably had a few things in here," she suggested. "If you're comfortable wearing a dead man's clothes, at least."

He didn't respond. Maybe that was best. The light-hearted moment was gone. She turned away to focus on the landing procedure.

Kasuto Palace was one of the oldest structures of the modern world. Time had seen many buildings through without much decay, but most had been altered by the living. Or pulled down. The Citadel in Castleton was said to have existed for many centuries now, albeit in a different, smaller form. Kasuto Palace, for its part, was a relic of old architecture. It sprawled now in all directions away from the central, original keep, but the keep was still there, with large windows in place of the original murder holes, and gardens in every corner, flowers and leaves overflowing from the courtyards and windowsills. Calatia was as fairytales described old lands. It had not suffered from the war, and it was as close to peaceful as one could expect a realm to be during a conflict of this magnitude.

That upset Nabooru a little. She barely acknowledged when Vaati came back to sit next to her.

In the gardens, a brand new landing port had been stamped, like an aberration. Nabooru stabilized the airship above it, and steadily cut power to the hovercrafts, so that the airship gently lurched down. Next to her, Vaati, in decidedly modern clothes, was clutching the armrests of his seat. He didn't look nervous, to his credit, but he had been uneasy with all the downward motions she made, and was probably eager to touch land again.

Some Wind Wanderer he was, she thought, amused.

She focused on landing smoothly. It was important to get it right. The airship was large, and she didn't want it to tip to one side or another from landing crooked. That hadn't happened to her in years, now, but for Vaati's benefit, she wanted the landing to be perfect.

Gently, as though coaxing a giant beast, she brought the hovercrafts down to one FGU, and eased the ship down as low as it would go. Then, she flipped a switch. The landing gear hissed out of its compartment, and she checked to make sure it was secure before letting it stretch down to touch the ground, both blades touching the ground simultaneously. This nudged the ship, but only infinitesimally. Satisfied, she cut the engines, and the airship seemed to relax suddenly, no longer fighting gravity, finally allowed to rest on land.

Already, Nabooru spotted the shore party that had been assembled to greet them. She saw a short man dressed in green, with a top hat, and a tall, broad-shouldered man next to him with an over-armour of metal on his arm ―the sign of a bodyguard― and two women beside them. They had shielded their faces from the wind of the propellers, but now they were regaining their composure. The eldest of the two, a Hylian, by the looks of it, was dressed in a well-tailored dress. Her hair was light red, with white locks already making it look pale in the afternoon sun.

Next to her stood a Zora, but Nabooru had difficulty making out any more details. The Zora woman stood in the shade of a large tree: the Zora people fared with difficulty in the outright sun and were easily susceptible to dehydration.

She turned to look at Vaati.

And stared into the face of Ghirahim instead.

Horror made her jump out of her seat, and she stumbled backward.

Unexpectedly, Ghirahim opened his mouth, revealing sharp teeth, and laughed.

"How―" Nabooru's stomach was in her throat, trying to find a hold with her hands, to keep her legs from failing under her. "Where―"

"Spirit," Ghirahim said, his dark eyes softening imperceptibly, "I am Vaati."

_Vaati_? That was ridiculous. Sure, the two men had looked somewhat alike, but it really wasn't― But then, Ghirahim _did_ have the Four Sword on his belt.

"How did you do that?" Nabooru breathed, eyes wide as saucers.

Ghirahim ―_Vaati_― shrugged. "Shadows."

"Magic," Nabooru breathed, and she now said it flatly, relaxing, annoyed. "Well, of course." She steadied herself and stood straight again.

"You have become quite cynical about it. How short your wonder was."

She snorted derisively. "I had to grow up quickly." She pursed her lips in consideration, then added, "Well, it's a passable cover."

Ghirahim rolled his eyes. "I will take that as a euphemism."

"Don't forget to speak Modern Hylian," Nabooru reminded him, though it was mostly for her own benefit. She had even said that in Old Hylian. That she had trouble remembering to speak her birth language, favouring a dead one, was more disturbing than a lot of things that had happened in the past week. She pushed that thought to the back of her mind. It would have to wait.

There was a knock on the airship's low side door, under the hovercraft wing, next to her. She went down a few steps, and pushed on the pressure relief button, and the door slid open with a hiss of steam emptying the locks. The armoured bodyguard was there.

"Captain Spirit," he said, his tone clipped and deep. "Byrne Claw."

"Yes," she said, unsure. She stepped down, out of the airship. "Good afternoon." She raised a hand to salute.

"Captain!"

Byrne stepped aside, and the short man in green stepped in front of her. He eyed her critically, up and down, stopping at her breasts for a fraction too long, before making a broad, forced smile. "Nabooru Spirit. Of course. Message from Holodrum reached my, erm, desk."

He took her hand, though she hadn't offered it, and gave it a weak, unwilling squeeze. She wasn't sure what to make of him, or that, or any of it.

Then, as though disgusted with touching her, though his eyes _did_ stray again to her chest, the short man said, "Chancellor Cole Malladus. You may call me Chancellor. Do you have the… the thing?"

It was then that Vaati stepped out of the airship, and said, with the scary style of movement of the dead man he was copying, "Naturally, Chancellor. I expect you'll tell the Admiral we've done our part?"

Chancellor Cole looked up at Ghirahim, and scowling, said, "Yes, yes, he'll be told." Then, after half a beat, he said, "Well, let's see it!"

So Nabooru and Vaati went about the ship, opening the hatches. At last, the rusted pile of scrap metal that was the mechanical bull was wheeled out, heavy as it was. The Chancellor looked at it with a growing mix of disgust and anger.

"You're joking!" He cried, his thin, tremulous voice made shriller by his anger. "That isn't the glorious weapon I was promised!"

"_You_?" Vaati was doing an incredible Ghirahim impression. That single word had all the contempt she'd have expected from the original. It was uncanny, and not a little unsettling.

Malladus stammered. "Well, I― uh, that is, the Admiral asked me to make sure."

"Well, maybe you're missing out on some information," Ghirahim snidely commented, and his eyes slid towards the two women hanging back, looking for all the world as though they didn't wish to be there and see any of it.

Nabooru had completely forgotten about the two women. She looked at them, and, suddenly, she thought she recognized them. It wasn't obvious, as she'd never seen them in person, but―

"You're right," Cole said, back to his usual imp self. To the women, he barked, "Seline! Fish-girl!" He seemed pleased with his slur, and Nabooru fought the urge to just punch him.

At least, she considered, he'd confirmed who the Hylian woman was. Queen Seline of Calatia. Her eyes fell to the little devil who commanded them, and she wondered whether her eight days away had seen some significant change, and since when Seline was under the control of this miniblin with a poor character, a short temper and a shorter stature.

Both women stepped forward. Ghirahim strode out in front of her, to ignore the Chancellor and bow low before the queen of Calatia, all pride and plumage.

And her eyes found the face of the Zora woman at last, and she nearly faltered.

"_Ruto, my dear, my child, tell your beloved subjects."_

_And, haughtily, she was going to. It was cool and comfortably humid in the royal chamber. Her Zora subjects all waited eagerly for her announcement._

"_Henceforth," she declared, and she was proud of her choice of words, "I will be the one who feeds Lord Jabu-Jabu." The awe on their faces was―_

― _terrifying. The boy had no idea. He was going to die. He had ventured into the lord of the water's own body, and swam in the fish's aorta, and his stomach, and fought the parasites there. He had made it here, and he was going to fall to the electric anemone. And then she would die!_

_She would die. Link hadn't made it in time. He couldn't always be there on time. No word from him for three years, and now the ice took her last, white breath from her. She watched as the world grew darker, and she stopped shivering, and stared, like a glass-eyed doll, into the water that slowly grew solid before her eyes._

_But he wanted to help. The mysterious Sheik had warmed her enough to help her out of the Ice Caverns. Now Link ― four years since the tragedy of Zora's Domain, and not a word from him in all that time― wanted to help. Well, he would help her. She would restore Zora's domain. She would!_

_He was grateful. She couldn't be his, and he had never been hers― Time could lay claim to him if she wished― so this was all she could do. She gave him her power, and the medallion, and he smiled, so strong and handsome, and vanished in the column of light._

_And she held on to her Zora child, the tadpole squirming, delighted to swim at last, the egg shells floating away, and she looked up at her devoted, bright eyed husband, and the Zora cheered for their new prince._

_And the night fell over her, and her son, her beautiful son, who looked so much like his father, held on to her hand, his fins growing in by now, his eyes tearful, and he said, "I'll take care of Lord Jabun, mother. You take your rest now."_

_And she saw her aging husband, and she held him, and the water filled their bodies, and they became one with the water, and she smiled, and he smiled, and they let their bodies get carried away in the current, and she thought to herself that all was aright._

And Nabooru used all of her willpower not to mourn openly. Instead, she stared dumbly at Ruto Watters, the lady of Zora's Domain, and knew.

"Water," she croaked. This woman was the Lady of Water Saria had told her about. She was a Sage. She was a _Sage_! Her hand reached out blindly, to catch Ghirahim's attention.

"I'm sorry," Ruto said, politely, and she stepped forward, "are you thirsty?"

"Silence, Watters, no one asked you to step in," Cole snapped, forcing himself in front of Nabooru, and eyed her contemptuously, though it was hard to do, short as he was. "She can wait." Then he asked Queen Seline, about the bull, "What do you know about this thing? Is it the right golem?"

Queen Seline stared at Chancellor Cole icily. She was obviously distant, and had lost all pretence at power. That was a bad sign. Everywhere in the Guardian Coalition, it was said Seline and Ruto had defected willingly. Nabooru wasn't so sure anymore.

And if the Guardian Coalition had lied about that, what else had they lied about?

Doubt, stronger than ever, edged into her mind.

"It is the right golem," Seline said, coolly. Her white locks were blinding against her red hair. "But it is missing a power source."

"Well?" Cole whirled on Ghirahim and Nabooru. "Where is the power source?"

"There was none," Vaati replied, and his tone wasn't as Ghirahim-like as before. Even Ghirahim's eyes flashed with the angry red of his impersonator. "It must come from elsewhere. Something powerful."

Cole turned to Seline. "Well? What else do you know?"

Queen Seline eyed them all with the same, mistrusting, doleful look, but she answered all the same, "You're also expecting a package from Twilight. Nightfall. They agreed to send you a power source."

"_Us_," the Chancellor corrected, sweetly. "We are united and _equal_, Seline."

"Naturally," she replied, and, though she was a gentle soul, there was a bite when she added, "_Malladus_."

Chancellor Cole did not take kindly to that. He turned to Byrne Claw and said, "Punish her."

"Here?" Byrne Claw was impassive, but a slight shift in his stance seemed to indicate discomfort.

"I don't care where," Cole spat. "Anywhere."

Byrne Claw grabbed Seline by the arm, though it wasn't forceful, and he did it with the arm that wasn't enhanced by piston armour. He pulled her away, somewhat carefully, and Ruto helplessly watched, pain in her eyes, as the beautiful, mature queen of Calatia was drawn away, like a child, to a space behind a hedge, and audibly struck. The queen cried out.

"I'm not sure Admiral Dragmire would approve of that," Nabooru coldly told the Chancellor.

"Well, he's not _here_," Cole said, false sweetness in his voice. "Now tell me how this thing works."

"I don't know," Nabooru flatly replied.

"Well, you're useless," Cole bit out. "I think I'm going to hold on to you both until I'm sure you didn't get me a pile of rubbish. You won't be happy if I'm not happy."

Seline was struck again. She audibly let out a sob.

"Would you stop hurting her?" Nabooru dared. "What has she done to you?"

"She raised herself above us. I don't like that."

"For an army to function, it needs an Admiral. Are you saying that Ganondorf Dragmire is arrogant for being in power?"

"We chose him," Cole said, though he was beginning to hesitate. Nabooru blessed her chance that he rightly feared Dragmire. It was good to know, and easy to use.

Reluctantly, Chancellor Cole called out, "Enough, Claw. Take her to her apartments." Nabooru watched as Byrne Claw reappeared, holding Seline gently. He looked like he cared, or at least like he wasn't really trying to hurt the queen. Seline was holding a hand up to her cheek, but didn't look in that much pain. Satisfied that justice had been doled out, Cole smirked. Then, in a snide, haughty tone, he told Ruto Watters, "Fish-girl, take these officers of the Guardian Army to the guest rooms."

Ruto pressed her lips, and turned to them. She smiled tightly, the expression not reaching her eyes.

"What about Goht?" Nabooru asked.

Cole wasn't even looking at them anymore. He was rubbing his hands slowly and anxiously together, trying to understand the purpose of the rusted metal golem. A Palace guard had shown up to wheel it away and move the airship out of the landing zone. Somehow, Nabooru felt uncomfortable. She eyed Vaati, who didn't look like Ghirahim as much then, his brow furrowed in a concern Ghirahim had probably never shown.

As though remembering himself, Vaati deliberately relaxed his face, and assumed a more casual, slouching pose than his martial rigidity.

"Don't concern yourself with it," Cole said. "Dragmire will know about your sacrifice, and then you'll be on your merry way."

"Sacrifice?" She echoed, the unease growing.

Chancellor Cole looked irked. "Yes! All that time you spent. Go, damn you."

That did little to ease her discomfort, but a warning look from Ruto told her not to argue any further. Remembering her purpose, Nabooru signalled for Vaati to follow her, and fell into pace behind Ruto.

Once they had cleared the landing zone and were out of earshot, their Zora guide politely, if coolly, said, "I'll show you to the guest rooms."

"Cole is planning to have us killed," Vaati softly said, for Nabooru's ears only, though she was certain that Ruto overheard. Somehow, this information didn't surprise her. It would actually make sense, in a way. The fewer people aware of Ganondorf Dragmire's plan, the lesser was the risk of it being uncovered before its time.

Still, and oddly enough, she had more pressing matters to attend.

"Lady Ruto Watters," she said, catching up with Ruto.

If she was surprised that Nabooru knew her name, Ruto did not show it. Instead, she cast a sidelong glance, and said, still coolly, "Yes?"

It occurred to Nabooru that she had no idea how to explain the situation without looking outright insane. Now that she had found the memories, and found the one they belonged to, what was she supposed to do? What were the odds this would happen?

Casting a glance to Ghirahim for help, she helplessly fell into silence.

Ruto picked up on the silence and said, "You're right to assume you are not safe here. If you wish to defect, I will tell no one."

It was difficult to say whether she was trying to trap them somehow, so Nabooru didn't reply.

She only said, "Do you know anything about the Sage of Water?"

Ruto shot her a sharp look. "No."

But that stirred Vaati, thank the skies. His eyes, dark with the illusion of Ghirahim, nevertheless formed a million questions. He wanted confirmation. He wanted proof. He reached out to grab her arm, though they kept walking. With an insistent look, he squeezed, and motioned to Ruto with his head. Nabooru watched his eyes, following his gaze. His eyes fell to her hand, which he was holding by the wrist, and then jumped to Ruto Watters. His eyes were screaming for her to act.

"You'll find the guest quarters through this door," Ruto said as they reached a low, long building in the gardens.

Without thinking, Nabooru suddenly grabbed Ruto's shoulder.

There was a sudden surge of energy between them, though for any onlooker, nothing was happening, except a sudden tensing of their spines. It was overwhelming. Nabooru shut her eyes tight, and the reflections of water on a cave ceiling danced behind her eyelids, and a torrent of voices gushed from within her memory, vanishing between the cracks, and she felt Ruto gasp, as though she was out of air, and the Zora woman's skin was like water under her fingers, and Nabooru could swear she was floating, getting swept by a current. A wave of emotions washed over her, and sorrow, and love, and loss―

But she planted her feet firmly down. I am Nabooru Spirit of the Sands. I am Spirit. This is not my memory. This is not mine. This is a gift in my keeping. Now it shall return to its rightful owner.

And still the emotions washed around her, and though she saw the infinite beauty and sadness of it all, she said nothing. She no longer tried to make sense of the memories. Unfiltered, they passed by her own memories untapped, unchanged, unharmed, intact and true.

A lifetime of arrogance, humility, love, loss, despair, hope, determination and joy passed between them, more intimate than any embrace Nabooru had known, more painful than any wound, too. It felt like her insides were raw, burned by the coldest ice or the harshest fire. Still, this was it. This was her purpose. She knew it with the hard confidence of one who had never been betrayed by her instinct.

Suddenly, Ruto pushed her away, and both women staggered away from one another.

The Zora's gaze had changed. She watched them both with wide eyes, but Nabooru saw no fear in them.

Taking a second to collect herself, Ruto finally cast a look around them, taking note of their isolation. Then, she looked at the guest quarters' door, and seemed to come to a decision.

"You can't stay here, Captain," she breathed, and exhaustion suddenly settled in for both of them. Tiredly, she said, "They'll have you both executed."

"Water―"

"Not here. I have questions, and you have the answers. Follow me. Be quick."

They had little possessions of their own, and so their escape to Ruto's quarters was silent and swift. There were few guards within the Palace. They seemed mostly to guard the perimeter.

"This is my prison," Ruto Watters softly said as an introduction. She ushered them hastily into her apartments, a series of large, high-ceilinged rooms with warm colours and bars in the windows.

"Prison?" Nabooru echoed.

Ruto looked surprised. "Well… yes. Isn't that obvious? Why are you here if not to free us?" She shot them both puzzled looks. "Aren't you Hylian Alliance operatives?"

Nabooru's lips parted in protest, but any word died on her lips. Ruto was a bright woman. She saw the question in her eyes, and immediately backed up. She stumbled into a desk, and found a letter opener there. The motion was subtle, but escaped neither Nabooru nor Vaati.

"Wait, Ruto. Us? Who do you mean? Are there other Sages here?"

Ruto frowned, as though she was not expecting her memory to recall the notion of what a Sage was. Then, slowly, she said, "Us. I mean Queen Seline and I."

"Is Queen Seline a Sage?"

"No, Spirit," Ghirahim admonished. "Think with your head, not with your eagerness." He turned to Ruto. "Start with the beginning, Lady Watters."

"I can't trust you," Ruto replied. She brought the letter opener out into the open. "You're not on our side. You're with the Guardians."

There was nothing Nabooru could say to defend herself. Her loyalty to Ganondorf Dragmire was beginning to crumble, but she had started with honest intentions.

"Truly," Vaati said, and for a moment Ghirahim's eyes were red like Vaati's, "but then, why would the Guardian Coalition wish to kill us?"

"That's none of my business," Ruto sharply said. "You want the truth?" She said it with spite. "We didn't have a choice. Unlike you."

"I was beginning to suspect that," Nabooru admitted. "Were the bars in the windows there before you moved in?"

Ruto changed her weight from one foot to the other, and looked annoyed. "What do you think?" She lowered the letter opener but didn't put it away. Her eyes were full of frustration and helplessness for a brief second.

"When you say you had no choice…"

Ruto muttered something neither of them could make out. At least, she wasn't threatening them anymore. That was something. Still, her obvious helplessness made Nabooru uneasy. Trapped people could lash out in unexpected ways. And Nabooru couldn't vouch for Ruto current mental stability, considering her own unsteady thought patterns lately.

There was a knock on the door. Unsure, Ruto motioned for them to stay against the wall, out of immediate sight. If she wasn't sure, she definitely wasn't going to let them slip away without being sure it was the right thing to do. Nabooru was grateful for that, at the very least. Vaati looked at her with Ghirahim's eyes, and she saw determination there. He was there to help her restore the Sages. The Deku Tree had told him to. He was going to help her.

Not for the first time, Nabooru caught herself counting the many blessings Vaati had been so far.

"Ruto," a gentle, tired woman's voice spoke when Ruto slowly opened her door. "Let us in."

Queen Seline of Calatia stepped in. Ruto stepped aside, and Byrne Claw followed closely. Nabooru shot Vaati a guarded look. Queen Seline looked around the room, and immediately spotted them. She didn't look surprised, though she instantly became still.

Byrne Claw, his mechanical arm hissing as he closed the door behind himself, also shot them a suspicious look.

"They are Guardian Coalition," Ruto said, "but I feel they may be more like Byrne, here, than the Chancellor."

Ghirahim's eyes steeled with insult. "We would never strike an unarmed woman."

Byrne nearly surged forward, furious, but Queen Seline stopped him. Oddly enough, he obeyed.

"Thank you, Byrne." Then, as though realizing she'd revealed Byrne true loyalty, she said, to Ruto, "They are privy to a lot of information. How can we ascertain…?"

It was then that Ruto's eyes met Nabooru's, and Nabooru saw in the lady of Zora's Domain something eminently familiar. Something about the woman's stance, or her gaze, felt much older and more venerable than it had been before.

"I trust the woman. Captain Nabooru Spirit. Nabooru of the Sands," she softly said, and her eyes glazed over for a fraction of a second, before focusing again. Her pale hand went up to her eyes and rubbed them tiredly. "Though I'd really appreciate some answers."

"So would we, I assure you," Vaati said, and Ghirahim looked a lot more like Vaati then.

"Ruto," Queen Seline gently asked, as she helped the Zora woman to sit in a chair, where she dipped her feet in a cool water basin that was waiting there, "are you certain?"

Ruto Watters nodded slowly. "I can't explain it yet, Seline. I trust her, and him by extension." She looked up at Byrne Claw, who was standing at attention, looking coiled and serious, and added, "Please, Byrne, get them a seat."

Byrne examined them from head to toe, then nodded curtly. He motioned to a large couch upholstered with silk and brushed velvet. Awkwardly, Nabooru and Ghirahim sat there, unsure of how to begin.

Seline took charge of that. "You may have understood that Byrne is a friend. That does not mean he will not harm you if necessary."

For good measure, Byrne imperceptibly flexed his mechanical arm, and the pistons holding it together hissed a little. Nabooru smiled tightly.

"We aren't here to cause trouble. I had to deliver the golem, on direct orders from Ganondorf Dragmire. I just happened to find… Lady Watters. If I may speak freely… I thought you were willingly on the Guardian side?"

"Willingly? No." Seline seemed to lack the words to continue.

There was a silence, and, at length, Nabooru asked, "Is there anything we can do for you?"

"I'm sorry," Seline politely explained, "but you are a captain of the Guardian forces. I cannot in good conscience say more without knowing your motivation."

"It was destiny that brought them here," Ruto stated with cool confidence, her eyes fixed on them from the place where she reclined, recovering from an extended time out of the water. Her feet slowly sloshed the water in the basin. "She," and here she nodded to indicate Nabooru, making Seline and Byrne fix curious eyes on her, "is the new Sage of Spirit."

Seline furrowed a brow, then looked at Ruto curiously. "I thought you didn't believe in those legends."

"I didn't, until it became obvious I am the Sage of Water reborn."

Seline looked upset. "You're not serious. Byrne, is she serious?" She looked up at her tormentor turned bodyguard, and the man looked uncertain himself.

"Seline, one touch was all I needed." To prove her point, Ruto darted a single finger to the water basin at her feet, and made a crooking motion with it. The water lurked up, and coiled into an upward spiral before their eyes. Even Nabooru was startled.

"Whoa."

"Her awakening was much more sudden and pronounced than yours," Vaati observed quietly. "Would that she understood what this means―"

"You are using Shadow Magic, aren't you?" Ruto asked, and both Seline and Byrne stared at her in confusion. Nabooru knew why: Ruto had just spoken in Old Hylian. The Queen and Byrne hadn't understood a word she'd said, but they followed her gaze to Vaati, who was still disguised as Ghirahim. Now, Nabooru was truly stunned, to the point of discomfort.

Ghirahim smiled, and she watched as Vaati let the illusion melt away temporarily, revealing his true face. Then, when he was pleased he had shocked the Queen and her guard, he recovered his disguise and maintained it.

"What―" Seline stood from her seat, and backed away from Ruto and Ghirahim.

"It's safe, Seline," Ruto breathed, as though in relief. "Finally, we're safe."

"What about your son?" Seline blurted inelegantly, before suddenly clasping a hand to her mouth, and staring at their guests.

Son? Nabooru looked at Ruto in shock. No one, anywhere, had ever mentioned the Lady of Zora's Domain had a son. This was as unexpected as hearing that Princess Zelda of Hyrule was married, or that Queen Rutela of Waker had been dead this whole time.

"Congratulations?" She risked.

Ruto only smiled. "Yes, well, perhaps now you begin to understand. My son is not safe unless I do as I'm bid."

"And…?" Nabooru looked at Queen Seline, fully expecting another shocking revelation.

"I do not have any secrets," Seline said, her posture straight. She had recovered quickly and with aplomb. "Save one." She eyed Byrne, who hadn't said a word yet. Then, she said, looking at her guests calmly, "My country was invaded from within. My own ministers turned on me. Those I thought I commanded became the puppeteers, and I went from ruler to mere figurehead within a few months. That was when they began to threaten my people. That's the problem with not having secrets," she said, mournfully. "There was nowhere to find my feet. They had swept all form of support and help away from me."

"Save one," Ghirahim calmly observed, looking straight at Byrne.

"Yes," Seline admitted. "It was fortunate, and one of the few times I proved I was capable of quick-thinking." Nabooru caught herself admiring the poise and honesty of this Queen. She was a traitor to the Guardian Coalition, and still―

"I told Byrne to ingratiate himself with _Chancellor_ Malladus." She snorted, her contempt obvious. "These Guardians have tried to sell ideas of what they call _democracy_." As though taken with sudden sadness, Seline averted her eyes and looked at the roses that climbed on the bars outside the windows. "They want equality, they say. They say that once the war is won, they'll have all monarchs executed, to show how equality prevails."

The statement was like a punch to the stomach. Nabooru felt panic grip her. No, no. No, that wasn't what Ganondorf Dragmire wanted. She opened her mouth to argue, but a sinking feeling stole her voice from her.

_Of_ _course_ Ganondorf Dragmire wasn't a dishonourable man, per se. He'd never win by behaving like that. But he had sent her to retrieve a destructive weapon _alone_, in _secret_, and given orders to have her killed when she returned.

And no one would know. And no one would know he condoned the execution of the royals, when it happened. He'd probably condemn it, after the deed, but he wouldn't prevent any of it.

Dark was right. Dragmire was bad news. He wasn't what he seemed. Oh, what a fool she was!

"_Nabooru of the Sands. You have tried to impede me every step of the way. You'll serve me now."_

_She was held firmly, and could only spit at his feet. "Curses on you, Ganondorf. Someone will stop you."_

"_The only one who could have stopped me was destroyed by the power of the very tool that could have harmed me!" The Sword. Ganondorf was jubilant._

_Nabooru felt her heart ache. The boy. The boy who had made it all the way past the fortress and into the desert, where no man had ever stepped. He was empowered by _something_._

_The boy…_

"We need to act," Ruto declared, decisively, drawing Nabooru out of her memory. "With both our powers," she stood now, and looked more glorious and strong than ever before, "we can foil them."

"Oh." Nabooru was taken aback. "Well, yes, but, um… I unfortunately can't really be of much help. I only _remember_. It's honestly the worst power I've ever heard of."

Ruto laughed. "Are you serious? Don't you remember your own powers?" In other circumstances, that would have been offensive and mocking, but Nabooru knew Ruto almost as well as the Zora knew herself, and she didn't take offence.

"It is my opinion," Vaati said, as a means of rescue, "that while Spirit still holds the memories of the other Sages, she will have trouble sorting out her own identity."

_Really_? Nabooru shot him a curious look. He caught her look, shrugged, then smiled.

"Well, that will be a hindrance," Ruto said, still as frank as usual, but there was no resentment there. "But that's no real problem. We've been strangely fortunate thus far."

Nabooru's eyes jumped to the bars in the windows, and asked, "How is that?"

Ruto and Seline both smiled. It was Seline who answered her question. "The golem you brought needs a power source, as you know." Her gaze fell on Ghirahim, and the corners of her eyes crinkled, the start of crows' feet showing only a little. "But the power source Ganondorf Dragmire arranged as a match is now a few days late. It was supposed to arrive on the 25th, early in the morning. The Princess of Twilight, Midna Black herself, was responsible for it."

It felt like so long ago that Nabooru had spoken of Midna Black with Dark. She felt a sudden pang of loneliness.

"Why exactly does Ganondorf Dragmire want this weapon in New Kasuto?" She asked. It felt like an important detail, somehow.

Seline pressed her lips together, then said, "Well, my dear, we are a Guardian bastion only a few hours away from the heart of the Hylian Alliance, Castleton. If Ganondorf topples Castleton in one strike, he wins the war."

"He's even managed to lure most of the Hylian Alliance's attention to Waker, as far away from Castleton as possible. They won't be ready for the attack, when it comes." Ruto's declaration was sombre at best. It occurred to Nabooru that all Zora originated in Great Fish, and that the Guardian Coalition had destroyed it some time before Nabooru had met Ganondorf Dragmire in person.

"I'm beginning to suspect that Midna Black may have deliberately hindered the Guardian Coalition's progress, specifically to alter this turn of events," Seline said, her eyes looking young with hope.

"Well, the power source is only two days late, but yes, she had a whole week to bring it from the Forsaken Fortress to New Kasuto. It was more than enough time, and it's still not here."

"I'm sorry," Nabooru suddenly interrupted, "did you say―"

Skies. The Forsaken Fortress. Her mind started calculating. She had last spoken to Dark on the 17th. He was headed there. Midna Black had had a week, ending on the 25th, to deliver―

Oh, goddesses, Dark had to fetch a package on the 18th of Quintember.

Suddenly, Nabooru began to worry. It was all too uncomfortably coincidental.

So, why was Dark late?

"Our priority is to awaken all the Sages," Ruto said. "Seline and I will prepare our escape for the time when they are all aware and ready to strike. If we all act at once, we may yet deal a crippling blow to the Guardian efforts."

"That could take an eternity," Nabooru said, feeling suddenly exhausted and deflated. She felt heavy with worry and despair. "I don't know who the Sages are nowadays, let alone _where_ they are." And she didn't know whose side she was on anymore. It seemed like the Guardian Coalition and the Hylian Alliance were pointless divisions.

"You know where Forest is," Vaati said, encouragingly.

Even Ruto seemed enthused by this. "Saria?"

Vaati's smile was the answer she needed.

"Well, then," Ruto suddenly exclaimed, "that's it!"

"What?" Nabooru couldn't believe that the Sage of Water could be so energetic when she was feeling so burdened. Then again, maybe this was the spark Ruto had been missing all along.

"I was always called Ruto," the Lady of Zora's Domain said. "And you were always Nabooru, right? And I knew the Sage of Forest's name was Saria, because it was Saria the whole time! Don't you see?" She moved forward to clasp Nabooru's hands in hers. "You must find the other Sages the same way. How many of them are called―" Here, she paused, frowning, looking into space. "It's so distant. There was a Goron."

"Darunia," Nabooru nodded. Yes! Of course! She could have kissed Ruto then. "Yes! A Goron named Darunia!"

"A Sheikah―"

"Impa. It was always Impa."

"And two Hylians. One a priest―"

"Rauru."

"And the other… Oh."

And then, Nabooru knew why Ruto had paused, and why her enthusiasm had waned. Now she began to suspect. If memory served, Rauru was currently the High Priest of Hyrule. He would be difficult to access, at best.

But the other Hylian was the largest problem she'd encounter in her life.

"Zelda. The Sage of Time was Princess Zelda."

Ghirahim let out a low, amused whistle that was more Vaati than Ghirahim. "Well." A heavy silence fell over the room. "This will be an interesting ride."


	29. 2-12 - The Infiltrator

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 12: THE INFILTRATOR**

* * *

><p><em>27<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Twilight, Nightfall<br>Palace dungeons, the Graves_

So far, so good.

The evening had fallen swiftly over Nightfall. That was her favourite time of day. She had entered the Palace from a more familiar route, and slipped into its old catacombs. She was familiar with many of the Palace's nooks and crannies, and knew which passages were least likely to be crowded.

Her shadows cloaked her comfortably. It was like a reassuring blanket.

The Graves weren't so much a dungeon as they were various cells and containment rooms carved out of the Palace's catacombs. They varied in size, luminosity and dampness, and until Zant's new reign, had been largely unused, save to hold the worst scum Twilight had to offer.

Midna had never liked the feel of the Graves. She reserved those cells for life-sentences: serial murderers, serial rapists, psychopaths, sadists… Essentially, if they were beyond saving, they went to an early Grave. She hadn't liked seeing them in court. She was a cynical woman by nature, but the unfeeling depths of the people she'd sent here still made her uneasy. Passion and rage, she understood to a point. The ones who ended up in the Graves were beyond crimes of passion. They were cold and calculating and self-serving. Some were even sent as a preventative measure. She didn't feel that bad about keeping them away from her people, though the moral and ethical struggle had often kept her up late at night.

In the end, she had chosen to rule with an iron grip. If they were reasonably perceived as an incurable threat, they were locked away. She had a good team lined up to sort them out. None of those who made it to her court for judgement had openly wept. They wanted to charm her out of her decision. She was always suspicious of that, and into the Graves they went.

Now, though, as she walked the winding, low-ceilinged halls of the catacombs, she began to wonder. Quite a few had died there. Some of old age, some of self-inflicted wounds. They'd offer medical care to those who asked for it, but many had asked to commit suicide. And she'd let them.

That, again, was an ethical dilemma she didn't like. Some families of victims had been outraged. They wanted the prisoners to suffer, not get an easy escape. Midna avoided the debate. She didn't want to punish, she told them. She wanted to contain. It was a distinction she had never wanted to budge on. No self-respecting queen wanted to cross the line into cruelty and torture, no matter who was the victim.

Eerie sounds echoed around her. She heard shuffling in the cells, and nearly jumped out of her skin once when a face had peered between the bars on its door. Scrawny, dirty, and affected with a skin condition that looked like mould, its eyes had followed her, unsettlingly, despite her cloak of shadows.

Shaking the uneasiness off, Midna focused on finding her way. She hadn't often visited the Graves, but she knew where she would find Dark's cell.

They filled the Graves from top to bottom. The ones closest to the ground floor were now filled with aging, wailing old men, condemned at a time before Midna's own predecessor. They had spent some three lifetimes there, howling, screaming at the bars, without much possibility for escape. They were crazed. They were angry. Some of those cells had been emptied years ago after a death, but some dangerous Twili still remained, sparsely, cursing and howling like animals. It had made Midna's skin crawl, but a Grave sentence was for life, and she wasn't going to undo the actions of her foremothers and forefathers. Besides, if they had been innocent when they went in, their new insanity assured they certainly weren't anymore.

She didn't like thinking about that either.

As she went further down, through a series of winding steps carved out of stone oozing with cold drops of water and slick moss, the caged lights overhead flickering and green-white, casting a sickly colour to the hallways, the cell inhabitants were getting passably younger ―if wrinkled and pale nonetheless― and quieter.

She had decided the silence was even more unsettling than the manic screaming. At least the screaming ones made their presence known. Here, she'd walk down hallways filled with ragged, breathing corpses, whose eyes stared unseeing, or who muttered under their breath. That was where a sudden face had startled her. She had hastened further down after that.

The reasoning for putting the newer arrivals further down was specifically to make new prisoners squirm as they passed by the hundreds of others that had been there for most of their life. It wasn't her idea. It had just always been that way.

Then, she reached the lowest floors. These places were damp, and water pooled in puddles here. She had to dodge those to stay hidden. Here, the prisoners were all new arrivals. She counted over fifty that she had never seen in court, who looked for all intents and purposes miserable, but not insane. Young women coughed, and some were talking in low voices. There were no guards here. The cell doors were sturdy and reinforced and expanded from humidity to fill the doorjamb too snugly. Besides, the guard detail from the Palace was a mere minute running from them. She heard a man telling a story about his son, and a few others laughed a low, sad, chilled laugh, the sort of laugh that comes from forgetting that despair surrounded them, and remembering mid-breath.

She moved slower here. She wanted to get a good look at their faces. A part of her wanted to find their cell keys, and free them.

But she was here for Dark. She wouldn't succeed without Dark's help. He was too important to her.

Maybe on the way out, though.

Nodding once to herself, Midna checked for the umpteenth time that her shadows were still there. Her hands still shimmered without issue. It was an exhausting trick, and often she had to pause, just to take a long, silent breath to recuperate, her mouth open, her chin up, to make as little sound as possible.

There was a woman crying in the cell to her right. A little girl sat next to her, silent and staring listlessly at the floor.

Midna's eyes steeled. Yes, she'd return. These people were innocent of any wrongdoing. They had probably simply opposed Zant.

If that was a crime, then she was the worst criminal of all.

There was a sudden scream of agony that echoed through the whole hallway, coming from the level just below. It was a scream of agonizing pain and rage. It startled her. Every prisoner in the row went silent, and the little girl next to her suddenly let out a faint sob, eyes watering, lower lip quivering.

Midna's own heart felt like it was about to burst.

That voice. Dark.

She began to run.

There were startled exclamations coming from the cells as she passed them. The splashes she wasn't concealing anymore were alerting them, and they lined up against the bars in their doors, eyes wide, confused.

Midna felt the shadows strain to cover her. Her heart was pounding so fast it was unsettling the calm of her Magic. She wasn't sure whether they spotted her, but she suspected it wouldn't matter if she didn't hurry.

Dark. Dark. Dark. His name repeated like a mantra in her mind, and her lips even formed the word as she scrambled down the stairs.

When she got to the landing, she paused, and let the shadows cloak her again. That was a strain she didn't expect. He screamed again, with a near hiccup in the sound, like he was choking on unimaginable pain. She was close now.

There was a stream of words coming from a brightly illuminated cell here. There wasn't anyone else on this floor. And she knew the voice she heard.

"… Come, Ensign, where did you leave her?"

Zant. Midna barely registered surprise at the bile that surged at the realisation that Zant Grim the Mad was in that cell, torturing Dark.

There was a grunt, and a sudden keening sound, like Dark was once again being prodded and hurt.

Dark! Dark.

_Shadows_, she thought to herself, _one last gift of your nature. I am a Twili, daughter of Fire and Shadow Magics. Shadow, grant me your illusions, and Fire, lend me your rage._

She didn't have to speak the words. She felt herself burning up, and let the shadows cloak her warmly.

"Ensign?"

"_Rot_ _in the accursed realm_." Dark said this with feeling, his anger flaring.

She stepped forward and looked into the cell. It was brightly lit with the same caged greenish lights. Next to the door, there were metal rods or various shapes. They were caked with rust and black crusts that were probably blood. She picked one up nonetheless.

Dark was heaving dryly, his breath coming fast with agony. He was chained to the floor, hands bound, and he looked awful. His clothes were muddied with water and silt and blood. His hair clung to his face in matted, bloody tendrils. Blood dripped from his chin. It oozed from his left eye.

It was swollen shut, but there was so much blood caked on his left cheek that Midna suspected Zant had severely injured his left eye. Popped it, perhaps. She tried not to feel nauseous.

There were many other lesions on his body: lashes on his back, and sores on his hands. Burn marks, maybe. His knees were scraped and exposed, bloodied where they had rubbed and dragged on the wet stone floor. Oddly, the Water in him was raging like a storm, untapped but ready to burst. She had never seen Magic that strong in her life. How could Dark be unaware?

Zant, for his part, stood, proud and magnificent, in his finest clothing, in front of him. He had an iron poker in his good hand. The tip of it was grimy with blood. The other hand was invisible under the folds of his large sleeve. Maybe this was vengeance?

Rage burned in her. It threatened to melt the shadows away.

_Let them burn_, she furiously thought. _Let them burn everything_.

Rage.

Dark… Dark…

"I thought you weren't the kind to get your hands dirty," Midna said, her voice cracking from misuse.

Zant whirled around, his poker nearly hitting her. She was just out of range, and tried not to flinch, but her own metal pike came up instinctively, and the two pokers clashed with a clang.

"Midna," Zant breathed, dark fury filling his tone. He couldn't quite pinpoint her, the shadows still covering her.

"Midna…" Dark wheezed, his voice broken, "leave. Don't―"

"Silence!" Zant wheeled around enough to strike Dark again sharply. Dark spat out blood he nearly coughed on. Midna was pleased to see he was aiming for Zant's boots. He still had spirit.

"I was just asking your lover where you were," Zant said, his tone high and sweet and ugly.

"You found me." With relief, she let the shadows fall away, and stood before him.

_Fire, burn in me. Give me your strength._

"I have so many things I wish I could do to you," Zant said, still sweet and high and manic. "I've already had your friends and family slowly weeded out. Did you know it was me?"

"I did," she breathed, and thought to herself that if he wanted to build up her fury, she would let him.

"And look at his hands," Zant said, stepping aside just enough for her to get another good look at Dark. It broke her heart. "My handiwork." He snapped his fingers and a bright flame erupted there, vanishing into thin air almost instantly, like a spark. He peered at her with sadistic interest. "But I see now, you already know some tricks."

"_Pyr_," she whispered, and Fire Magic manifested, strong and volatile and hungry. It swept towards Zant, who hand to sweep it aside with a word.

His yellow eyes met hers, and narrowed. "I'll kill him now, Midna Black. And then you will surrender your kingdom to me in front of the nation."

_Fire. Forge me a blade worthy of my fury_.

It came at a cost. She felt a dizziness she chose to attribute to her anger. She held up the pike. It warmed to the touch. Burning in her hand, she felt a sword of flame and molten metal.

"You think molten metal can harm me?" Zant laughed. "Cold metal is far less malleable."

But she was cold and focused. Cold and tempered and furious. The flame on her sword grew. She fed it all the anger she knew.

"I will reduce you to ashes," she swore, and lunged.

Zant stepped back and parried, locking his poker with hers. She howled in fury.

_Reach, Fire. He is fuel. He would burn so well._

The fire from her weapon jumped to his, and heated it up as it went. Zant watched in growing horror as the flames hungrily came down towards his hand. He dropped the poker, and twisted out of her sudden lunge, skipping agilely out of the cell. She cried out and threw her arm out again, but he was out of her reach.

"You will not win, Midna."

Then, with a cold, manic smile, Zant Grim evaporated into the shadows, and vanished.

She stood, fire pike at the ready, for several more seconds. No further attack came. She dropped her weapon, which stopped blazing before it even hit the ground, and turned to Dark, kneeling in front of him.

Her hands found his face, gently lifting it. Now that she could get a better look at him, she saw his eye was, indeed, completely gouged. He had many lesions on his face, grossly cut, with what looked like a black eye in the other eye. It looked like Zant had toyed with him as torture, and she had prevented him from following through in more gruesome ways.

Dark's whole body shivered with adrenaline and shock. His intact reddish brown eye met hers, wild and unfocused, the white of his eyes red with burst veins.

"You didn't run," he gasped, his voice croaking.

"Neither did you," she breathed, and felt tears well up. He hadn't betrayed her.

"You… you came back. Din, Farore and Nayru, skies, seas and sands, I think I love you, Midna Black," he breathed in relief, worn out. She had trouble deciding if that was the relief talking or more, and decided it didn't particularly matter. He shut his good eye and let his forehead fall forward, exhaustion setting in.

"We have to leave."

"I was just getting comfortable," he sarcastically whined, and she found herself smiling.

"There are plenty of other prisoners to rescue."

"No," Dark suddenly gasped. He raised his head again, and looked at her as insistently as he could with just one valid eye, the other dark purple and hideous. "Zant wants to take the Sols to Ganondorf Dragmire."

She paused. "What? Both?"

"Both," Dark nodded, breathless. "Said he had a gift to offer him. Said he's preparing a golem. Something like that, I think. Didn't quite get the whole thing. He was just raving. Or bragging, maybe. I don't know. But Ganondorf has his own golem, I think. They need one Sol each."

Then, Midna knew. Gohma. The golem was a huge spider that had once been alive, that the Sheikah of her ancestry had altered with metal and shadow. It wasn't alive anymore, but it could be controlled and powered with a Sol. It had once been a powerful tool of war, destructive in its force. In time, they hadn't needed the weapon anymore, and its Sol had been used instead to power the city at its core.

Hospitals and communications and water treatment and food storage and transport all depended, at least partially, on the Core's power grid. It had a backup system, but it was old and hadn't been used in many decades, and, Midna remembered in a rush, it had a few minutes of lag between primary power loss and secondary take-over.

She realised that three minutes would be enough to seriously hurt those in critical conditions in hospitals, or cause signalling conflicts for automated transport. She thought of swift tube transport, and knew it would not be able to handle a large-scale outage. She thought of the people working in the deeper city sewers on powered oxygen lines. She thought of freighters relying on power to plot their route, and what would happen if they careened out of control. She thought of the airships coming in from all directions and being unable to speak to the control on the ground for coordination. She thought of the cries for help from those who would suddenly be trapped in electromagnetic elevators that would drop back to the ground if their brakes were faulty…

Three minutes of raw, deadly chaos.

"He's insane," she breathed.

"I agree," Dark said, and he would have eyed her with irony if he'd had the energy. "Let's stop him."

"We still need to release these people. They are innocent. The floor of Graves just above this one is full of entirely innocent prisoners."

Dark jiggled the chains holding him kneeling on the ground, tired. Oh. Right. Midna scowled in thought, then reached for the poker Zant had dropped, and lodged it firmly between the floor and the metal clasp bolted to the stone, then pushed down on it with her feet, trying to pry it out of the ground. It came loose after a lot of effort, and his feet were finally free. He fell back to sit, stretching his legs with a dolorous groan.

She took his burned hands ― and tried not to feel guilt for his pain: it wasn't her doing, it was Zant's ― and said, "I'm going to melt these chains. I need you to do me a favour."

"What? How?" He nearly jolted away, but the shackles were chained to the floor and he couldn't move back very far.

"You have Water, Dark. It's welling up like crazy." Sands only knew why... "You can use Water Magic if you try."

"How would you know?" Dark hissed angrily.

"I saw it in you when I was dousing for the Sol, back in the Samasa desert. I know you have this, Dark. Trust me."

"I don't know how to use Magic, Midna."

"You don't have a choice. I need you to use Water to keep your skin cool and protected while I melt these shackles. Help me help you, Dark."

"You're crazy―"

"Dark. Shut up and focus. The Water word is '_ag_'."

Amazingly, he did fall silent. She could tell he was willing. He was tense and shaking, and she reached out to soothe him. He relaxed, and his lips formed the word, and water almost immediately rose from the wet floor, and wrapped on his skin, under the metal shackles, and ran up and down the length of his arms like rivulets defying gravity.

Midna was amazed at the speed with which he found his strength. She wondered why the essence of Water had gotten so strong while both Fire and Shadow remained poor and weak.

"That's… incredible," he said, holding his breath. "Hurry up before it stops."

She did. The Fire Magic welled up in her again, and she realised then how much her use of Magic had tired her. This was an effort.

But the shackles started to burn red. The water on Dark's arms began to evaporate with a hiss, but he tensed and willed more onto his skin. Midna pressed on. The metal began to glow brighter and brighter, until it became orange, and then yellow, and started to lose its shape. It began to drip to the floor, making the water puddles hiss. Midna dared a glance at Dark's face. Beside his absent eye, he was focused and still and awed all at once.

The shackles fell away from Dark. She willed the Fire away from his skin. The burning, molten metal fell to the floor, where it almost immediately started to cool again. Free at last, Dark watched it sizzle, amazed. Then, he looked up at her. She stood, and reached a hand out to him to help him up.

He just stared.

"We used Magic," he breathed.

She laughed. It sounded odd in the Grave. "_Now_ do you believe?"

"You made me do Magic." He was still stunned. She sighed.

"Yes, Dark. Come on. Time is short."

He stood on his own, though he wavered a little, dizzy after being so long on his knees. He looked at her intently with his only eye, and she made to walk out.

He latched onto her wrist. She paused and turned to look at him. He was wincing. The burns on his hands had hurt, evidently, when he'd grabbed her.

"Dark?"

He was a mess. On top of his gouged eye, he was covered in blood, his clothes were grimy, and he had burns and cuts nearly everywhere. His pants' knees had worn through, and his knees were bloody too. But when he suddenly smiled, bittersweet, she thought it was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. He was alive.

He stepped closer, his one functional eye sharp and aware.

"I should have done this the first day I met you." He reached with an index that hadn't been too badly burnt, and ran it against her cheek, and under her chin.

And he kissed her. It was quick. He was aware of his state, and probably didn't want to worsen the situation. Then, stepping aside, as though to dodge any outrage from her, he walked out of the cell and said, "Well, we have a nation to rescue."

Stunned, she took a split-second to recover. Then, deciding she'd have time later to sort all of it out, she followed him.

This time, the hallway of prisoners was loud. They exclaimed in shock when they saw her, struggling to peer at her and Dark through the bars on their doors. She was running tired, though, and wasn't sure how to open the cells without Magic.

"I want to let you out. We have to be quick and silent," she called, hoping that the single raised voice would suffice.

The prisoners in the Graves fell silent.

"The keys are hanging on the wall over there," a man suddenly said, seeing her unspoken wish. She looked up at him. He was a Twili, though his skin tone bordered on Hylian peach. He was probably a mix.

"Thank you…?"

"Mond, your highness."

"Mond. Yes." She hurried to the keys. They hung from a hook on the far wall, and she tried a few before finding the right key. Time was pressing, and she had some fifty cells to open. An initial assessment assumed that most cells had single occupants, but a few had mothers and children together. All in all, perhaps sixty people.

"Dark," she said, forcing the key to turn in a rusty mechanism, "keep your ears open for any guards. Zant will have alerted them."

Dark was nursing his burnt hands and cupping his injured eye, but the eye that still opened was steely and focused amid the swelling. He nodded curtly and strode to the rising stairwell at the end of the hallway, leaning against the wall for support.

"Your highness," Mond said when she sprung him out, "what is your plan?"

"To be honest," Midna said, as people softly exclaimed with relief and gratitude, their cell doors opening one by one, "I have none. We'll have to fight our way out, but I'm sure you prefer that to the alternative."

Mond glanced into the Grave he had just vacated, and blanched, and nodded.

"Yes, but… after that?"

Midna looked up, confused. She saw Mond ― tall, thin, very Twili-like in his stature and posture, but with some indubitably Hylian traits― and the mass of all-Twili folk massing quietly behind him, mothers holding their children close, men standing nearby and ready to fight, and she asked, "What do you mean, after?"

"Well, how do you plan on retaking the throne? If it pleases you," he added, humbly, bowing as though remembering her rank.

Midna's throat felt tight. Her hands shook as she continued to open the cell doors. "I appreciate the sentiment, I assure you. But right now, my priority is to get you all out, then stop Zant from stealing the Sol from the city Core."

There was a murmur of confusion in the group of prisoners. Midna opened the final lock, and a last Twili man walked out, awed. Then, with a deep breath, she added, "If you think you can make it out without my help, that would really speed up my escape."

"Of course," Mond said. He turned to the others, and said, "Keep the children in the middle of the pack. We leave no one behind. This is a chance we will not get again."

As the new de facto leader, Mond was doing a decent job. Midna wondered whether he'd once been a soldier, or maybe an employer of some sort. She wondered what they had all done to deserve imprisonment. Then, she decided it didn't matter. Rushing through the group again ― it parted to let her pass ― she joined Dark. He was frowning, though she couldn't say if it was with pain or concern. Just looking at his gouged eye made her sick to the stomach.

"Not a sound," Dark said, peering into the greenish darkness of the stairwell. "I don't like that any more than a swarm of attackers."

"We don't have a choice," she said. "Up is the only way out."

"Or we could use the sewers," a young voice said. Midna turned to the little Twili girl. She was grimy, and her feet were full of wet sores, but her eyes were dry for once. She was crying in the Grave when she'd passed through the first time.

"The sewers," Midna echoed dumbly, wondering whether the thought had any merit at all. Her instinct was dismissal.

"She might be right," Mond said. "For this much water to accumulate in here, we have to be close to the sewer system. The city's soil doesn't naturally contain water, after all." Midna was silent, thinking. Mond added, "I was a city planner before. There is definitely a drain for all this water somewhere, but I think it's higher up. It's just accumulating and stagnating here. We have to go up to where the water starts draining away, and we'll have reached sewer-level."

"I don't know the sewers' layout. It might take some precious time to leave it."

"I know the system," the girl said, speaking up again. She blushed and shied away when all the eyes turned to her.

Embarrassed, her mother said, "We used the system to steal food. It pans the whole city, and no one thinks someone would use it to escape."

"Well," Midna said, thinking quickly, "if you can get us all out of here unnoticed, I won't begrudge you that."

"Did you even see a drain on the way down?" Dark asked.

"I did, when they brought me here," a man said. A few others nodded in agreement. "It's barred, but the bars looked rusty."

"Have we come to this? For my people to notice sewer entrances?" Midna had trouble believing it.

There was nervous laughter in the group, and many shifted their weight awkwardly.

Well.

"It's a sound way to get around unseen," Mond explained, by way of apology. "The resistance has been using it for a while now."

"Resistance?"

Mond smiled. "Why else would we be prisoners here?"

Midna looked at them all with renewed appreciation. "How did I not know?"

"We couldn't reach you to tell you," Mond said. "You were out of country."

She steeled herself and said, coolly, "I don't intend to be ousted again."

"Your highness," Mond said insistently, "claim your throne. It is yours, rightfully. Democracy be damned."

"One thing at a time. First, we need to get to the Core." She looked at the little girl. "What is your name?"

"Edna. Your highness." The girl was wide eyed, like she couldn't believe she was speaking to a princess.

"Edna, have you been to the city Core?"

The girl nodded slowly, anxiously. With one glance at Dark, who stood solemn and silent, Midna kneeled before the girl, and said, "If you can take me there by the fastest way you know, Edna, you will save many lives."

Edna nodded. She took her mother's hand, and tugged. Dark stepped aside to let them pass up the stairs. Then, with a glance at Midna, he nodded curtly, and set out after them. Midna hurried behind, nursing her energy. She'd have cloaked them all in shadow if her strength had allowed it.

A resistance movement. It was uncommonly flattering. But something about Mond's statement had bothered her.

Democracy be damned? Really? She was beginning to think that the people might know more about self-reliance and justice than she'd originally given them credit for. Perhaps they might benefit from a proper form of elected government…

They reached a landing, and rushed through the hallway, in front of many Graves. Prisoners rushed against the bars and pleaded and begged and cried for freedom, but Midna ushered the group through heedlessly. These were not political prisoners. She knew their faces and their crimes. They would stay.

Another landing, and already the water became sparse.

"This way," the men said, ignoring more prisoners rushing against their cell doors to plead for release. The drain to the sewers was just above waist height, but from peering through the rusting grate, there was far more space beyond. It fell a few feet down, and joined a moderately high main drain.

"We just need to pry the grate loose," the men agreed, and began to pull. The metal groaned loudly, and some mortar fell, but the grate hardly budged.

"We need more hands!"

Midna stepped aside, and joined Dark as he nursed his burns. She noticed he was coiling a few drops of water and spraying his hands to cool them. It looked like a serious effort, but he was practicing.

"Midna," he said, softly. "What will you do when you reach the Core?"

She was starting to get irritated with the same question. "I don't know. Defend the Sol, I suppose."

"Forever?"

"If I could get the people to see Zant's treachery, it wouldn't have to be forever."

Dark didn't add anything to that. He sighed. "I never used to look at the bigger picture. My next meal was all that mattered. Now…" He watched as the men pulled and progressed on the grate. It was loose on the bottom now, and was coming loose on the left side. They pushed, then pulled, then pushed again, like they were trying to root out a stubborn tooth. "Now, I want to think there is a future where I fit in."

She wanted to ask what that had to do with the city Core, but she thought it would be unkind. Dark had changed from the torture. He was detached. Soft. She didn't like that. Maybe he was more broken than she thought.

"What do you see for yourself?" She asked, figuring there would be time later to offer him help.

Dark smiled sadly, and he even laughed. He sounded like his old self when he laughed. It was sombre and ironic. Midna decided she liked that even less. "You know, that's just the thing. I don't see a future at all. I've never wanted something more than that, and I just don't see it."

"That doesn't mean it doesn't exist," Midna said as the grate suddenly tore out of the wall with the loudest groan in the world. It echoed up and down the hallway, and she whirled around to face the prison guards that would surely have been called down by now.

But the stairwell at the opposite end of the hallway was still deserted. They'd lingered there more than long enough for guards to have reached them ten times already.

"Why aren't they coming?"

Mond looked up for the cheering men who were now slithering down into the sewer drain. He said, "They're waiting at the top for us to charge out. They figure there is no other way out but up. They'll be disappointed."

Midna was relieved, then made a mental note to change guard protocol in the Graves if she ever became queen after all.

"We have to hurry," Edna said, peering at her and motioning to the exit.

Oddly charmed, Midna smiled toothily. "You're right. Lead the way."


	30. 2-13 - The Sitting Ducks

**I hope everyone is happy with the release speed. I'm trying not to lapse. Let me know if it's too fast, too slow, so on. **

**Love,  
>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 13: THE SITTING DUCKS**

* * *

><p><em>28<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Harbour_

Link watched the early morning sun rise on the water. Near the docks, it was a muddy brown and green, opaque and littered with debris and trash, but further out, where it vanished into the horizon, it looked blue and clear, the waves occasionally crested with foamy white. He sat on the steps leading into the water, and listened to the regular clopping of water against small rowboats. When a large battleship passed by on the horizon, he watched its wake waves spread out, waiting for them to reach the shore. Then, the rowboats heaved upwards, and the waves broke on the docks and the stone with a decidedly unimpressive surge, and he resumed his watch for more wakes.

The numbers tumbled into his mind unbidden. Windfall had a small armed force, and many of its ships had been damaged by war near other islands. They were, in effect, tied to shore and in no shape to meet the attacking fleet head-on.

It was odd to think that a horizon so peaceful and bright and warm would one day reveal Windfall's attackers.

He didn't want to focus on facts. They bothered him. Windfall was a sitting strong point. It was impossible to mobilise efficiently. The enemy forces would undoubtedly cut off all outside support, and a siege would begin. Not for the first time, Link wondered whether it wouldn't have been safer to evacuate the civilians. They'd break under pressure, and there wasn't enough of a command structure to keep them calm if the siege grew long.

"Link."

Blinking, he turned to Sheik, who was squinting against the sun to look at him. Malon stood with him, dressed in a new set of coveralls. They were dusty but not grimy this time.

"What is it?" The sun was inching its way away from the horizon and beginning its slow ascent towards the zenith. The wind felt good against his nape.

"We're going for breakfast. We just finished installing the rails and I'm famished."

"And exhausted," Malon added.

Link nodded. They'd worked through the night to set up what Groose had the poor taste to call "the Groosenator", a nevertheless flexible set up of cannons mounted on rails. It was a quick way to cover the circumference of the island and reduce the necessary number of large guns. They could simply be engine-powered towards where they were needed.

"It's all set up?"

"Mostly," Sheik exhaled, cracking his neck. "It'll need a few tweaks, but we were starting to see double, so the engineers shooed us away."

There was a constant rotation of mechanics and engineers. Link was surprised Windfall found so many of them, but then, even a teenager who could fix a radio was considered a mechanic, so…

"Alright, I'm with you." He stood and dusted himself off.

"What were you assigned to?" Malon asked Link, looping her arm in both of theirs. She was friendlier now that they'd spent some time together, and seemed to prefer their company to Shad's, who was far less amiable and a lot more stressed these days.

"Zelda ― I mean, the princess― asked me to review her copy of Queen Rutela's battle plan. I didn't sleep very well."

Sheik scowled, and Malon grimaced.

"Is it that bad?"

"Oh, no," Link hurried to assure them. "It's actually quite sound, for a plan that uses the few forces we have left."

"Be honest," Malon asked both of them, looking at her booted feet as they strode down the plaza. "Are we going to lose?"

"I don't know. It all depends on the enemy forces. We're too few to harass them efficiently before they get here, so we don't know the extent of their power…" Link didn't finish his thought. He didn't want to think.

For the past two days, they'd prepared for the worst. He'd left the lost persons booth to Kidd and a few others. Link, as captain of the Hylian Alliance, was of more use to Zelda, or so she assured him. They'd spent most of yesterday evening discussing the battle plan. They were both uncomfortable. At last, Zelda had retired, and said she'd meet him this morning in front of the Resistance Headquarters. They were expecting the dreadnought today.

It was still a bit early in the day, but this arrival came not a moment too soon. By all accounts, the enemy would be on them by this time tomorrow, perhaps even sooner.

A dreadnought. Link wondered if that would make any difference at all.

"On the upside," he said, forcing some cheer into their conversation, "the dreadnought's commander is Darunia Rocks."

Sheik let out a low whistle. "Well, he certainly didn't waste time climbing the rungs. How did he do it?"

"What do you mean?" Malon shot Link a curious look, her light blue eyes wide. Link thought he saw why Sheik couldn't stop staring sometimes.

Ignoring her freckles and the way her red hair caught the light, because frankly every time he looked at Malon he caught himself comparing her to Zelda, and he didn't want to think about what _that_ meant, Link elaborated. "He was Impa Shades direct subordinate, some…" Skies, ten? Just ten? "…ten days ago. He's a Goron, and he was chief mechanic of the_ Courage_ when he started off his military career, two years ago."

This promotion was, indeed, a climb of unprecedented speed. Link didn't know if that was a good or a bad sign.

"Was he a friend?"

Sheik and Link exchanged glances, then both shrugged. "Well enough, if you can call him that. He's a friendly type, but we didn't work together much," Sheik explained.

"I'm sure Princess Zelda will be glad when he gets here."

Link looked up at the airships prepping in the sky. There were two other dreadnoughts ―the _Eldin_ and the _Valoo―_ in the Windfall airspace, both of them from the Waker Sea air force, and one flagship, the _Ordona_, which served less as a battle cruiser than as a means of escape for the Royal Family. The rest of the ships, all smaller and swifter, were zipping through the sky, practicing still.

Sheik noticed his look. "Good thing we'll be of use down here. I wouldn't want to dogfight over a city full of civilians who can't evacuate."

Link didn't reply. He avoided meeting his sergeant's gaze.

Ashei Snow had approached him earlier that morning. It had effectively kept him from sleeping in, and his thoughts had brought him to the quays. She needed all the pilots she could get, she said. They had a Flit whose pilot had deserted. It was a two-seater, but could be piloted alone, one of the smallest airships in the world, but Ashei assured him it had been outfitted with enough guns to pack a mean punch.

Link hadn't really considered his answer, but now, glancing at Sheik and Malon, who were in tired, but at least cordial, conversation, he felt a knot form in his stomach.

He was still a captain of the Hylian Alliance. Ashei had stressed that fact. It weighed heavily on him.

They reached a busy café. The city was overpopulated and anxious. Few people slept soundly. They gathered in the Headquarters or in the cafés to talk and to give themselves even less reason to sleep.

Less than a day before _they_ came. It was on all lips. Some were shaky with anxiety, some silent and brooding, but few were cheery. Some tried to sound optimistic. Some tried to hoard what few resources they could. Some tried to leave with tiny ships, but were unsuccessful. Windfall was lucky that the land sloped away gently for a good while around the whole island, making its waters full of warmth and life, but once the island shelf fell away, the waves grew increasingly difficult to manoeuvre without a proper sea vessel. The number of dead rose every day, before the enemy had even struck once.

And the suicides…

Link shook his head. Despair was everywhere now, and hushed all the more desperately to avoid it spreading like a plague. Aryll fought despair by focusing her anger on something. Better to feel anger than helplessness, Link supposed, but he didn't like what his sister was turning into. She'd been so gentle…

Nana was quieter. She was always warm and welcoming, but she smiled less easily, and she looked tired a lot more. That worried Link. She wasn't getting any younger, and exhaustion could just as easily be a coup-de-grâce as any bullet. He'd asked Groose to give her less tiresome tasks. Cooking for the Resistance was too harsh on her.

And Groose, for his part, was running himself ragged. Link and Sheik had never liked him, but no one could deny he was coming through, sleeping only one or two hours at a time, a schedule even soldiers would find difficult. Soldiering on was Groose's forte, and in spite of his pompous behaviour, he was the pillar the Resistance needed for its trial by fire.

Kidd still hadn't found his brother. He didn't talk about it. After all, no news now was the same as no news before they arrived, but it felt more hopeless now, if that was possible. What were the odds that Kidd's brother would be alive if he hadn't made it to Windfall? Kidd was sure his brother was in Waker… Link wasn't going to rise to the challenge of suggesting that perhaps the boy's brother was dead. Enough despair for now. If they lived through the next few days, he'd consider broaching the subject.

Zelda…

The water reflecting the light looked so beautiful. Link pressed his lips together grimly as they sat. Zelda. She was never very far from his thoughts. Princess Zelda. She had gone away, to sleep, last night. She'd undoubtedly show up again at the Headquarters today. He knew that worrying kept her on edge, and tried not to show how concerned he was for his own in front of her. She smiled at him like a friend lately. He liked that.

"I think, with proper calibration, it could be done," Malon was saying. Link focused on them again. Too many thoughts were as bad as too few, Nana said. Focus, Link…

"That's assuming we have time to calibrate the cannon properly," Sheik said, as a harried waitress brought them their morning coffee and toast. They couldn't afford much more, and anyway, the food was rationed. Link hadn't even noticed them order for him, and felt slightly embarrassed when the waitress placed his coffee in front of him.

"Thank you," he muttered, mustering a small smile. She barely noticed.

Was this what civilians felt like before a battle? Link felt the tension around him like a thick cloud. It was terrifying how helpless he felt. He sat up in his seat, trying to get comfortable, to no avail.

"Link, if it's all the same, I'd like to stay with the Civilian Resistance to help out when they start firing the cannons. I know you're my ranking superior. A word from you would make sure…"

Link nibbled at his toast. It tasted like coal and butter and wheat and it made him want to hurl. He carefully put it back on its plate, wondering why he felt so uncomfortable.

"Of course," he told Sheik. "You're a mechanic. It's the right thing to do."

"Right," Sheik said, his reddish eyes looking at Link's toast, then up at Link's face. He was sharp, Link knew, and his oldest friend besides. Link shot a look at Malon, who was pensively sipping her coffee, dark circles lining her eyes, focusing on a point between the ground and the horizon. Sheik wouldn't question him yet. Not in front of Malon.

Hopefully, he wouldn't, ever. Link wasn't entirely sure what he'd answer.

"Anyway," Sheik said, dropping the silent interrogation by focusing on the cream he was stirring into his cup and watching the pale swirls, "I heard from Tetra that Zelda ―I mean, _Princess_ Zelda― was hoping for more ships. Level with me. What are the chances?"

"Slim," Link said, bluntly. Come to think of it, better focus on the facts of the battle than the dangerous cloud of thoughts Link filed under 'Zelda'. "But you've heard as much anyway. What's the use saying it over and over again?"

Sheik laughed lightly, but it was empty. "I keep hoping for a different answer."

The clock tower struck eight. They let the bells sound in silence. Link eyed his toast and forced himself to eat it. It could well be his last peaceful meal. It didn't sit well in his stomach, but he washed it down with coffee, and felt somewhat better.

Zelda…

He tried not to sigh audibly. He was exasperated with himself. Why was it that every time he tried _not_ to think, his thoughts inevitably went back to the princess of Hyrule, who would be, perhaps, one day, if things went well, the empress of the Hylian Alliance…?

If he were honest with himself, he _knew _why, and _really_ didn't want to think about it.

From their terrace table, they had a good view of the Civilian Resistance headquarters across the plaza. It was bustling at all hours, but Link was confident he'd notice Zelda when she arrived. She always stood out in a crowd. The uncertainty, perhaps. Ordinary people seemed to fascinate and confuse her. After the initial shock of her presence among them, the civilians had gone back to behaving as usual, and she seemed delighted by this, but different all the same.

She was really pretty when she smiled, Link absently thought, for the fiftieth time.

Ugh. He was doing it again.

"So," he said, clearing his throat and turning his focus decidedly away from thoughts of Zelda's smile, "I imagine you're off to sleep after this?"

Telma Ales, the civilian in charge of housing, had found a small room for them to sleep in. Kidd and Malon roomed with Nana and Aryll, but the three soldiers roomed together. They were cramped in there, but at least it was a clean, warm place to stay, close to the HQ and Nana's house, with low rent.

Sheik and Malon exchanged a quick look, then, with an embarrassment Link only vaguely perceived, nodded. "It'll be tough later on," Sheik said. "I'll try to get all the sleep I can get. What about you?"

Link shrugged. "I wouldn't be able to sleep even if I tried. I'll welcome Darunia with Zelda― I mean," he caught himself, the way they all did, on her title, "_princess_ Zelda."

Malon nodded. "I hear Colin spent most of his time in the mailing rooms with the couriers." She looked sad. "I know his father is a commander in Hyrule, right? He was trying to get word out to him about the upcoming battle."

That was something else. Colin was Rusl Blade's son. Blade was Hyrule's Ground Forces commander. Colin hadn't got any special treatment for it, but Link couldn't help thinking it was his responsibility to get him home safe, at the end of the war.

Neither Sheik nor Link had a father. It seemed important to make sure Colin wasn't lost to his… somehow.

"Sands, seas and skies," Link sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. _Sands, skies and seas_, the prayer went, though it was far from his memory now. Something about salvation and protection, and a promise of faith. What was the use? Soldiers made thousands of wordless cries of prayer when they died, and Link hadn't heard of any being saved quite yet.

Still, the despair made you want to believe that there was something on the other side. Maybe more sand, sky and sea. That would be good, Link thought. He had known little else.

"Don't worry," Sheik assured him, "I was told the message would get out, unless the enemy has some sort of intercepting fleet in place."

"That's good," Link conceded. "I don't think the enemy will circle through the north. When they still had Dragon Roost, we could have been afraid, but…"

Dragon Roost, with its high peak, was like a beacon. It had, before the war, been a communications hub. It still had the necessary infrastructure, but the high rate of signals meant only high priority calls got through with them. The rest had to be sent with a delay, or by regular mail.

"You know what really mystifies me?" Sheik asked, pulling Link out of his thoughts. "I heard the fleet of ships approaching have an island signature of KO. There are _no_ Waker islands listing that signature."

"I know," Link nodded, "Aryll said the same fleet apparently attacked Outset." KO. He'd looked it up too, with the same blank answer. Waker was composed of so many islands, and none starting with K.

"Some of the boys on the night team said it was to scare us. Remember the legend Sturgeon used to tell us? The island of Koholint!" He waved his hands and laughed. "Spooky!"

Koholint. Link wanted to slap his forehead in realisation. Koholint wasn't a real island. It was supposedly a dream island that trapped shipwrecked sailors. It didn't strike the same real fear as the Forsaken Fortress had in popular lore, but it was still as scary to sailors as mermaids and sharks and octoroks.

"You know," Link said, agreeing with the hypothesis, "it could be the Guardians just wanted to scare us."

"Or they have an aircraft carrier with that name acting as a moving base of operations," Sheik said, and Link realised his friend had put more thought into his theory than he'd let on. "Something mobile would allow them to disguise their fleet and keep it difficult to number and locate while keeping them supplied and powered."

"I hate the way your mind works," Link grudgingly granted, admiringly.

"Koholint," Sheik repeated, his eyes lost on the sea. "Can you believe it? Legends come alive in our nightmares, not in real life. What's next?" He laughed, his reddish eyes glinting with humour, "Magic?"

Link shuddered. "Skies, don't even suggest it. With our luck, someone might hear you and figure out a way to bring Magic back."

Malon sighed and leaned her cheek into her hand, smiling. "I'd like having Magic. My hair would always be perfect."

Sheik shot her an odd look. "Your hair already looks perfect all the time."

Link tried not to laugh. Malon's cheeks were pink under her freckles, and she mumbled a soft, "Thank you." Sheik looked embarrassed by his own candour.

Across the square, there was some commotion. In the air, over the already constant hum of the aircrafts flying, Link noticed a new sound signature. He put a few rupees down and stood. Hyrule's dreadnought. It was still far, but he knew he was right.

As if on cue, all the way across the plaza, Zelda Harkinian, looking arguably better rested than he felt, walked down the street with Wulf. He saw her turn the corner, smiling at a passerby.

"Alright," he said to Sheik and Malon, who now had twin, strange smiles as they looked at him. "I'm going to work. Sleep for all of us."

"Of course." "Naturally."

He didn't pay them any further heed. They could be catty all they wanted. He was on a mission.

Zelda turned to smile at him when he reached her across the square. "Good morning, Link." She reeled Wulf in. Wulf absolutely loved Link and regularly wanted to rub against him, begging for scratches. Without coercion, Link reached out to scratch Wulf's chin.

"Good morning, your highness."

Zelda didn't like him addressing her like that, but he made a point of greeting her that way every morning. The rest of the day, he'd slip up regularly. Zelda, Zelda, Zelda.

"The dreadnought is on its way. Will you come with me to see Darunia Rocks? I don't know him as you do."

Link let her lead the way and fell into step. He hated how much he liked being in her presence. If _anything_ was temporary, this was it.

"I haven't seen Malon or Sheik. I'm told they're working very hard."

Link nodded. "I just had breakfast with them." For what it was worth. "They're off to sleep. They worked all night."

"Yes, they deserve it," Zelda agreed. "And Colin and Kidd, too? Are they alright?"

Link nodded. He tried not to wonder whether she really cared or if it was just courtesy. He desperately wanted her to care, and desperately wanted not to care whether she cared or not.

"Thank you for letting me integrate myself to civilians," Zelda went on warmly. She reached out to touch his shoulder. He couldn't help but notice, and tried not to focus on how her touch was soft and gentle and light and branded him through his shirt.

Skies damn it.

"It was important that you do it. It's given them hope and trust. Those are in short supply these days."

Zelda nodded. She seemed to search for her words, then said, "I've been told that I would be put into a safe bunker for the duration of the battle." She didn't have to say out loud that she didn't like the idea. It was plain on her face, in the hard glint of her eyes and the firm set of her mouth.

"It's the best option," Link tried to say, but she rolled her eyes.

"The people won't have bunkers. Who am I to get additional protection? I'd rather give my place to the children."

Link agreed with the sentiment, but the thought, unbidden, of shrapnel fire and rubble raining on the city made his gut clench with terror. Zelda, Nana, Aryll, Kidd…

If he could magic them all away to a safe mountaintop temple, heavily guarded, he'd have done so in an instant. His helplessness made him grateful she'd at least have the bunker.

"What will you do during the battle?" Zelda asked.

His morning conversation with Ashei came back to him. A lump in his throat formed.

"I haven't been assigned to anything yet," he said. A growing awareness was forming. He had no choice. She didn't have to know just yet. It was vain, but he wanted to believe she'd worry if he told her too early.

She was watching him. Then, dashing his hopes of subtlety, she said, flatly, "Ashei Snow told me she wanted to send you out there, alone in a Flit."

Curse you, Ashei.

"Yes." Honesty was the way to go, then. "That's likely."

Zelda said nothing, and when he glanced her way, she looked like something hurt. Then, shaking her head, she said, with a deep breath, "I don't like any of it."

"If I could serve otherwise, I would. But I'm a good pilot. If anyone should be in that extra Flit, it should be me."

"_I don't like it_," she insisted firmly. "Before you go into the Flit, I want to see you."

"See me? Why?" His curiosity would be the death of him, but curse it, maybe she cared…

"To wish you good hunting properly," she said, forcing a smile. "Or is… is that what they say? Good hunting?"

Link smiled. His heart warmed. "Yes."

She looked pleased. "Oh, good. I asked Tetra and Shad, but they don't know and you do."

Link laughed. "I'll make sure to see you before I buckle in."

"Thank you, Link."

"You're welcome… Zelda."

She smiled warmly. She smiled at him like he was a friend. It killed him, the unfairness of it. It would be nice to forget their rank, just for one day, and pretend she could be in his league somehow.

Right.

The hum of distant hovercrafts was growing louder when they reached the hill top. Here, the wind blew strongly and the sun was bright. It tousled his hair and it felt good. For a brief second, it occurred to Link that he was alive and infinitely small against the sky. It was an inspiring and humbling thought.

Snapping back to reality, he met Zelda's gaze. She was smiling, her eyes half shut against the light and the wind. Link wondered if she thought like he did, and he wondered if that meant they were connected in a way that was deeper and more meaningful than his initial assessment, if maybe they were meant to cross paths, and whether he was _meant_ all along to think she was beautiful and strong. But then, he reminded himself that it probably didn't mean anything. Anyone with a bit of a soul would enjoy the wind and the sunlight on their face. He liked her, simply and without interference from any gods. Maybe that was even more meaningful…

A large shadow covered the landing pad of Windmill Hill. Raising his eyes, straining against the bright morning sun, Link got his first look at the new arrival.

In such grim times, the dreadnought was beautiful. The metal, painted with the red phoenix of the Hylian Alliance, the hot hovercrafts, the untouched metal frame, the wide windowed command deck, the curved lines, the heavy cargo bay that bulged under it, full to the brim with its own Flits and their crews, made him want to sigh with relief. It made him want to believe they could win easily.

The dreadnought had slowed from cruising speed to its slow approach speed. It was stabilizing and its hovercrafts were rotating, offering resistance to steady its position.

After what felt like forever, it finally hovered, humming, over the airfield. Dreadnoughts rarely landed fully. The effort to lift them for the first time was gargantuan.

But a long metal staircase was extended towards the ground, and Link stood, with Rutela and Zelda and Tetra and Shad, to welcome the new commander.

Darunia Rocks, a large Goron in a uniform that made him look twice as large, walked down with a few officers, and saluted in front of them. He bowed the head to the royals and nodded in acknowledgement to the others. Link echoed the commander's salute. Darunia ranked higher than he did now. The Goron shot Link a curious look, then he smiled in recognition.

"Captain," he said, his deep voice respectful.

"Commander," Link said, smiling tightly. "Congratulations on your promotion."

Darunia looked sombre. "Don't congratulate me. Impa Shades gave me the title because I was one of the last few with enough field experience. Lots of good men are dying in Gerudo Canyon as we speak."

The stalemate, then. Link tried not to think about the dead. The fact that the dreadnought was here, in Waker, would cost them many more lives further north.

"Your highnesses," Darunia said with a clipped tone. "Princess Zelda. On behalf of your stewards and Commander Impa Shades, this is the dreadnought and the crew you asked for."

"Thank you," Zelda said, regal and different from the Zelda Link knew. She knew the accusation her stewards wanted her to feel. Rauru was against the idea of war, and would have cautioned her to sue for peace. Auru was a military mind, and chafed to know Gerudo Canyon was costing them so much. Renado was stern but understanding, and was probably the voice that had secured her this single ship. Last night, Link remembered, Zelda had explained that she understood what this would cost. It was necessary. Link had to agree.

As for the dreadnought itself… it would have to do.


	31. 2-14 - The Messenger

**PART 2: PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 14: THE MESSENGER**

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><p><em>28<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Calatia, New Kasuto<br>Kasuto Palace_

Ruto paced back and forth. Nabooru watched her with some apprehension. At her side, Seline also observed the Zora lady with a mild frown.

It was a little disconcerting, the amount of energy that had filled Ruto since Nabooru had awakened her. For all that Nabooru still had unpleasant flashes, she felt a little lighter, it was true, but never to the extent that Ruto did. From the listless, meek Zora she'd been only yesterday, she was now determined and angry.

The anger, Nabooru knew, was justified, but it was all the more terrifying because Ruto regularly lashed out, making ambient humidity condense into rain ―even indoors― or cooling the air in the room until frost began to form on the windows.

Just now, she'd waved her hand absently, and water from her personal aquarium had sloshed, all the way across the room. The fish inside had looked particularly agitated.

"Perhaps you should sit still," Nabooru risked.

"I can't help it," Ruto scowled. "I could easily make Cole regret ever threatening us, and you want me to keep this to myself."

"It's only temporary," Vaati gently said. "There may be excellent ways of sabotaging Chancellor Cole's efforts, but only if he doesn't suspect you."

"_They… have… my_ _son_." With each word, the wine in their glasses lurked, as though an earthquake made it shiver. Nabooru was impressed with Ruto's restraint. Only this morning they'd had the same conversation and it had ended in a sudden shower outside. It had subsided, and now the sun shone on the glistening leaves. Still, it made Nabooru nervous that this amount of power was in the hands of such an emotional woman.

Vaati assured her Water was naturally emotional. It was the changing, wilful nature of her element.

"And Fire is ferocious and affectionate, and Spirit is righteous and stubborn… You all have your quirks. This changing mood is hers."

Nabooru had accepted that answer, but it hadn't made Ruto any less agitated. They were now discussing how to make sure Nabooru could get to the Hylian Alliance to speak with Rauru and Zelda. It would be difficult, but Nabooru saw herself negotiating peace with them already.

She was probably a traitor to the Guardian Coalition by now. That was going to be difficult to explain.

She rubbed her eyes and heard Ruto muttering under her breath again.

"Look," she finally said, "all I need is a neutral airship out of here. If I can make it into Hyrule―"

"You won't find Princess Zelda in Hyrule," Seline said quietly.

Nabooru turned to her, frowning. Seline was by nature a calm woman, and when she spoke, it was always softly.

"I'm sorry," she said, unsure. "Did you say Zelda wasn't in Hyrule?" It seemed odd for the ruler to leave her country in times of war.

Seline smiled unhappily. "It's part of Ganondorf Dragmire's plan to lure the Hylian Alliance armies out of Hyrule and into Waker. Some Guardian spies say that Zelda left for Waker to defend it against invasion, leaving three stewards behind."

Nabooru wanted to cry. "But Waker is all the way south! If I rush to her, I'll never make it in time to warn Castleton!"

"Leave the warnings to me," Seline said, shaking her head.

"You have to get to Zelda," Ruto said with confidence. "She was the leader of the Sages then. And if you can get to Zelda, you'll have no trouble finding the others."

It was a sound strategy, except it relied on her getting through Hylian Alliance territories and close enough to Zelda that she could touch her. It was something all of Ganondorf Dragmire's spies had dreamed of without success.

"You're asking for the impossible. The future empress of Hylia won't allow me near her. They'll shoot me down before I can even explain myself. And even if I _can _explain myself," Nabooru said, "who'll believe me? The only proof I have," and she motioned to Ruto vaguely, which in hindsight was probably impolite, "has officially declared for the Guardian Coalition. That's about as useful as a fly swatter in a gun battle."

Byrne cleared his throat. He was as silent as a monolith sometimes, and she regularly forgot he was there. Still, when he spoke, he commanded silence.

"I believe I can help."

Nabooru furrowed a brow, and turned to look at Seline questioningly.

Seline sighed. "Yes, dear, he can help. You see, Byrne has been relaying information about the Guardian Coalition to some… friends on the other side."

Nabooru couldn't help but be suspicious. Byrne had already proved himself a friend to Calatia's queen, but that didn't mean he was a reliable spy.

"Until recently, it wasn't clear what sort of weapon Dragmire hoped to use against Castleton. Now, it's obvious." Byrne straightened even more, if that was possible. "I'm going to be sending the message to an ally in Waker. She'll be able to get you close to Zelda, I think."

"Who is this contact? How can you trust her?"

"Oh," Ruto laughed, "I know we can trust her. I set her up myself."

Nabooru insisted. "Who _is_ she?"

Ruto shrugged a slender shoulder. She had calmed down significantly. "Her name is Tetra. Tetra Pirates? You probably don't know her. I placed her with Queen Rutela before the war. It was a friendly gesture at first, but… well, we haven't exactly cut ties."

"Does Rutela know this?" Nabooru caught Vaati's gaze, and he shrugged, before turning his attention back to Ruto.

"I suspect she does," Ruto said, smiling. "I think Rutela is aware that my own hands are tied. We Zora are a close-knit community. She probably knows I didn't switch sides of my own volition. At the very least, all the information we've been relaying through Byrne has been accurate until now. I think, in a way, she'd be loath to let Tetra go."

"And if we let Tetra know you're on your way, she'll most likely let you in without much question," Seline concluded.

Nabooru frowned. Vaati still hadn't said a word. "That's convenient." She couldn't help it. Guardian ties ran deep, and they were admitting to outright treason.

Vaati sat up straight, reading her with ease that only mildly unsettled her. In Old Hylian, he murmured, "They were going to have you executed."

Seline and Byrne cast him odd, confused looks. Old Hylian was a language of scriptures. Few people today studied it.

"They still might," Ruto said, coolly, in Old Hylian as well. Seamlessly, she switched back to Modern. "If the plan is fine, you should hurry. Malladus won't let us convene like this much longer, or he'll start asking questions." She turned to Byrne and shooed him away. "The less you're seen with us, the better."

Hiding his annoyance, Byrne bowed and excused himself. He shut the door quietly behind him.

"Now all we need is a ship," Nabooru said, glancing at Vaati for confirmation.

"No," Vaati said. "You need a ship. I think time is of the essence. I will return to the forest. The Great Deku Tree may offer counsel."

This was unexpected. Nabooru wasn't sure she liked the idea of being without Vaati's support. She still had the occasional flashes that completely took over, the ones that filled her with rage or grief.

"If time is of the essence, why are you retreating?" Nabooru asked, desperate to change his mind.

Vaati seemed to sense her panic. He smiled gently, his red Sheikah eyes sharp and perceptive. "We will need all the Sages united before this is over, I fear. And the Kokiri must prepare for war."

"I'm sorry," Seline suddenly said. "Did you say… The Kokiri?"

Vaati shot the queen a kind smile. "After all you have seen, you still hold the smoke of history to be true?"

Seline had nothing to say to that. Ruto fidgeted in her seat. "How will you return to Saria?"

Vaati stood and bowed. "There are arcane ways of traveling. I cannot take any of you with me, but I know the Songs. They'll take me where I must go."

The Songs? Nabooru flinched, feeling a powerful memory trying to push itself over her consciousness. She struggled to hold it down, but it oozed into her vision, obscuring the present. Instead, she saw _the boy in green. Sheik's bandaged fingers strummed over the harp. The Minuet would serve the Hero well. Hopefully he'd use it for speed. Sheik's heart beat erratically. Could he tell? Could he see through the mask? But Link's eyes were only filled with a strange mix of confusion and trust. It made Sheik's heart hurt to see it._

_The things that will be asked of him… Link…_

_The notes were light and gentle, and Sheik held his breath to make them perfect. The Minuet of Forest was an ode to youth. It was imbued with power and deep, raw Magic. Link would need it. Sheik wanted to linger, but it would do no good. Better steel Link first. He needed strength, not compassion._

_Link echoed the notes, the haunting sounds of the ocarina rising in the living forest. Sheik's time to retreat had arrived._

"_Link… I'll see you again." It was true, but the time between would be difficult. Sheik wanted to say more, but he stepped away, and blinded Link for his escape. He'd most likely have to teach him the Prelude of Light, the Bolero of Fire, the Serenade of Water, the Nocturne of Shadow, the Requiem of Spirit… But that time wasn't now._

_Down below, Link peered around in frustration, and kicked a rock. Sheik tried not to smile._

"Nabooru. Nabooru!"

Nabooru's eyes were open, but it felt like she could finally see again. Ruto and Vaati were both holding her shoulders. Ruto was peering at her unabashedly, while Vaati merely stared at the floor, rubbing her back. He was used to this by now. Nabooru felt a wave of shame come over her. She had tried so hard to hold back the memory. It hadn't worked.

"Who was Sheik?" She asked in a croak. Ruto handed her a glass of water.

"You don't remember? Sheik was the name of Zelda's disguise for the Seven Year War. Probably suggested by Impa, her Sheikah protector." And the Sage of Shadow.

Now that Ruto said it, Nabooru saw the pieces fall together and shape an understandable picture. Yes. That was right. It explained why it felt so odd that Sheik, a man, felt like a woman, in the heart.

"I think," Ruto speculated absently, drawing Nabooru back to reality, "maybe Sheik had originally been a member of Impa's family."

"Perhaps," Vaati said, "but that is all in the past." He squeezed Nabooru's shoulder firmly. "Neither of you must forget." He shot Ruto a stern look. "Don't tangle the past with your current selves. You are not your past incarnations, however your memories tell you otherwise."

"Easy for you to say," Nabooru grumbled, feeling a headache coming on. Vaati almost smiled at her sheepishly.

"Will you find a ship for her?" Vaati asked Ruto and Seline both. He was all business again.

"I'm sure we can do that," Ruto nodded. The door swung open, and Byrne hurried in.

"That was quick," Seline said, puzzled.

Byrne, his expression carefully neutral, said, "They're coming for your… guests." He eyed Nabooru and Vaati, who shifted back into his disguise of Ghirahim. Nabooru couldn't get used to seeing it, and blinked a few times.

"_They_?" Ruto echoed sharply.

"The firing squad," Seline hissed, standing and taking the extra glasses of wine away. "They won't think to find you here with us, but when they see your deserted rooms…" She shot both Nabooru and Vaati urging looks. "You have to leave or we'll all―"

"_Yai_, understood," Vaati nodded, grabbing Nabooru by the arm and dragging her out of the room. She barely had time to wonder.

Ruto followed. She turned to Byrne for a split-second. "Mind your queen."

Byrne rolled his eyes, and it was all Nabooru saw before she was pulled out into the secluded garden courtyard. Ghirahim looked far more curt and efficient than his living self had truly been. He was still pulling on her arm, but Nabooru had too much trouble focusing to mind it. Ruto followed them.

"Through here," she said, slipping in between two buildings. It was a narrow passage, and it lead out onto the landing area where they'd first arrived. In the shadow of the palace walls, they watched for danger. There wasn't nearly as much traffic here as in the main port of New Kasuto. This was a private field, and lightly guarded.

"You can pilot," Ruto said, to Nabooru, hastily. She pointed to a small Flit on the edge of the maintenance hangar. "That is Cole's emergency escape method. He makes a point of reminding us that we can't use it." She rolled her eyes. "He can't pilot to save his life, but then, neither can Seline or I. It's useless without his private pilot. Still," she smiled wanly at Nabooru, "you can use it. Here."

Ruto put a set of keys into Nabooru's hand firmly. Nabooru stared down at them, puzzled.

"How…?"

Ruto shrugged. "It's not like we can use them, so Cole never bothers to hide them. He's a fool, and that will serve again, in time. Go!"

"But―" Nabooru wheeled on the Sage of Water. "No. Wait. What about you?"

Ruto looked like she was desperate to follow her, but she said, instead, "Seline needs all the friends she can get. I'm needed here."

"But Hyrule―"

"I'll be there in time," Ruto assured her with a smile, and it felt like a sea breeze blew against them, such was her conviction. "Go, Nabooru of the Sands. Fly quick and safe." Then, unexpectedly, Ruto threw her arms around her, and said, with confidence, "One day you will remember everything that is yours."

Nabooru felt a strange lump in her throat, a sadness she couldn't explain. She didn't really know Ruto, but sorrow filled her anyway. Sorrow and determination. She turned to Vaati.

"What about you?"

Through Ghirahim's eyes, Vaati seemed to smile mildly. "We will meet again soon. Go, Spirit. Your journey is long and dangerous, but no one is better prepared for it than you."

She didn't speak her doubts out loud. Instead, she nodded, and reached for Ghirahim's hand, squeezing it. "Thank you."

For a brief moment, Ghirahim's face flickered into Vaati's, but he regained his composure. Nodding curtly, he urged her away. "Go!"

And she did. She stepped out of the shadows and into the sun. There was no one to see her hurry. The landing area was more or less deserted. She opened the Flit door and slid in. She shot Ruto and Vaati one last look, but they had already gone. That made her sad. Better not dwell on it.

The Flit was like new. It had almost never served, but it was maintained in tip-top shape. It was identified with the markers of Calatia, but she could reprogram it to broadcast a neutral call. Hopefully it would be enough to get through Waker lines…

Perhaps, on the other side, things would even themselves out. Right now, the Guardian Coalition was winning. Her instincts seemed to scream that it wasn't such a positive outcome after all.


	32. 2-15 - The Lovers

**"So like, oh my god, CM, when are Link and Zelda gonna get together? Seriously? I've only been waiting 4 years." Hurhurhur.**

**We're coming close to the end of Part 2, so you can reasonably expect lots of stuff to go down in the next few chapters.**

**ALSO, SORRY ABOUT MY RELEASE SCHEDULE BEING ALL WONKY. I SUCK AND I'M TRYING NOT TO.**

**Love,  
>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 15: THE LOVERS**

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><p><em>28<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Streets_

Zelda could feel the electricity in the air. It made her hair stand on end, and she shivered. The evening was cool, and the wind was brisk. For all that she had spent the day with Link nearby, she couldn't help but feel cold.

Link and Darunia had retired to rest, and Rutela, Ashei and Tetra had adjourned to discuss further defences. Zelda and Shad had agreed it would serve no one to participate as well. The women of Waker had things well in hand, and Shad decided he wanted to find refuge in the library of Windmill Hill, curling up with Wulf, who was ready for a nap. Now Zelda wandered in the streets with her heart pounding.

It was unfair to think that Link had to go to battle. Darunia had expected him to report for duty. Apparently Link was one of the best Flit pilots of Hyrule. Zelda wondered why she had never known that before coming to Waker. It seemed like she discovered new things about him every day.

By tomorrow morning, she considered, the enemy would be here. She was still high on the hill, and an overlook off the side of the street looked out over the ocean, its black waters reflecting the rising moonlight brokenly. The night was clear, but the horizon was all black, like Windfall was an island of light in an ocean of darkness.

The street lights flickered.

Fear was contagious. She saw it in the barricaded shutters, and the hurried pace of the people. It was in the silence of terraces, in the deserted markets, in the hushed crowds of the taverns. Fear roamed rampant in the streets of Windfall, and there was nothing Zelda could do about it.

Fear was in her heart. She wanted Link close by. She wanted to ask him for his strength. She wanted to know what courage possessed him when he went out to war. She wanted him near, to explain everything, to hold the unknown and the fear at bay.

She wondered if he knew the influence he had over her. He was sincere and honest, so perhaps he didn't, but, if he did, he didn't use it for his own profit. It was easy to slip into thoughts of his respect being love. It was even easier to imagine him wanting her in every possible way, and to imagine the warmth of his body against hers in the dark, the safety of his arms, the beating of his heart against her ear, the strong breath in his lungs, the cruelly tempting desire to belong…

But that was weakness, she knew, and it was unfitting of the future empress of Hylia. She had to be the beacon in the darkness, the standard bearer, the voice of reason, the maternal provider. It was a massive task, and she struggled not to curl inside herself, with only her thoughts of a future that would never be to comfort her.

She wanted to see him. The wish was overwhelming all other thoughts. She had finished a full day of giving, of heeding and providing counsel, of planning, of worrying, of sneaking a few glances Link's way to wonder what he thought of various proposals, but he had only spoken up once, to provide Darunia Rocks with details the Goron didn't have. The rest of the time, he had been silent, tired and haunted with concern. He had met her eyes once, and it had filled her heart close to bursting with uncertainty so sweet and terrifying she could not hold his gaze.

If he dies tomorrow morning, Zelda thought, what good will hiding my wishes do?

Her feet brought her to the small building where Link roomed with Sheik and Colin. The lights were off. She hesitated. Perhaps they were sleeping. But then, Colin Blade usually spent his evenings with Link's sister and grandmother. And Sheik Strike was always at the Resistance Headquarters until at least the early hours of morning. He would still be working on the railed cannons system with Malon Ranch tonight, no doubt.

But the lights were off… Maybe Link was asleep. Zelda stepped forward, then paused, and decided not to bother him.

But if he dies tomorrow, my heart will be consumed with grief.

She stood in front of the building, uncertainty and terror making the blood pound in her ears. Her heart was thumping, and longing washed over her.

Just once, she wanted to beg. Just one night, to pretend I am not Zelda. What if I have no other chance?

She spent several minutes, torn in the deserted street, and finally decided she did not have enough courage. She would go to the Resistance. Work would keep her mind off her cowardice.

"Zelda?"

Her heart nearly burst. Link. She turned. He was walking up the winding street with a bag of leftovers from a restaurant she didn't know. He looked as stunned to see her standing there as she felt seeing him.

Under the moonlight, he was so handsome, his confusion so endearing, his eyes so bright, she wanted to cry. The fear, no doubt.

"I simply―"

"It's cool out," Link said, cutting in, and, after a moment's hesitation, he blurted, "Come on up." She was sure, in the bright evening, she saw his ears grow pink. He looked like he wanted to apologize for his brusque offer, then changed his mind visibly, and stood there, like a statue in pristine uniform, waiting to see which way the current would carry him.

Her own voice felt weak, and when she said, "All right," it was so soft she wasn't sure he had even heard her acquiescence. But his face lit up, and he pulled out his keys.

The stairs were narrow and the steps creaked, and they climbed in silence. Her heart was the only sound she could hear over the raging storm of her thoughts.

"Where are Colin and Sheik?" She asked, to quell the howl of doubt and joy in her mind.

"The usual," Link said softly, opening his door with a jangle of his keys. "Sheik is at the Resistance's with Malon. Colin is visiting Aryll." He didn't add more than that detail. The small apartment he introduced her to was sparse, with no kitchen. There was a bathroom right of the front door entrance and two rooms with mattresses and blankets on the floor. It was a sorry place to keep three grown men, but Zelda had not known, or she would have offered some of her own palace rooms.

Link seemed to notice her discomfiture, and said, "We're hardly ever here, so you'll have to excuse the lack of decoration. Colin sleeps in Nana's house these days, and Sheik works a lot of night shifts…"

"And you're always helping us," Zelda said with a small smile. Link nodded, shut the door, and put the bag of food on the floor. Then, in the empty room, they stood across one another, the silence stretching between them like molasses.

Link cleared his throat. "I didn't think you'd visit. I would have brought more food back if I had…"

Zelda felt terrible. "I'm not very hungry." Then, to make him feel better about having her there, she asked, "If you have water, I would…"

He smiled quickly, pleased, and offered her a glass, pouring from the tap in the bathroom. The water wasn't very cold, but it was fresh and clear and gave her something to clutch while she was there.

Seas, sands and skies, why was she even here? She could face Queen Rutela in front of her whole board of advisors and not flinch once, or escape the serious Renado, Rauru and Auru, and here she stood with uncertainty filling her from scalp to toe.

"I'm sorry," she said, holding her glass with both hands, trying not to tremble, "I shouldn't have come. I'm only intruding, and you need your rest."

"No, no," Link protested, "I was on my way to you, actually." He reached out to pluck the empty glass from her hands with a familiarity that tingled.

She blinked, and tried not to let joy overwhelm her. Perhaps she had not understood.

"I spoke with Ashei and Darunia. They didn't give me much of a choice," Link said, with a sad smile. "I'm going to lead a squadron of flitters tomorrow morning. I was on my way to say goodbye."

Zelda's stomach dropped into her feet. She blinked several times, trying not to let him see how unhappy she was. "I'm sorry it had to be this way," was all she could muster, but even then, her voice was weak and cracked a little.

"Sorrier than me, I'm sure," he said with an easy smile she knew was forced. "I don't think it's all that bad. So far my record of safe returns is quite pristine. And I got to meet you."

Zelda didn't want to hear it. In general, Flit pilots either had a perfect track record… or were dead. Surviving a downed Flit was historically rare. As for his statement about her, she wasn't sure what to make of it. "Promise me you'll fly safely."

"I would swear it if I could," Link said, his smile coming easily. "It wouldn't do to disobey you."

"Don't do it for your ruler," she said, more firmly than she felt. "Do it for your friend."

Link seemed troubled by this. His throat bobbed, and he licked his lips. "I don't know if I'm worthy of…"

"You are," Zelda said, and she cursed herself for letting her eyes water. He seemed alarmed by this too.

"Princess― Zelda, please, don't cry. I'm just a soldier. There are thousands, millions even, in your armies. Don't let their risks claim you. You'd never sleep again."

"It's not the soldier I came to see," she said, and she hardly heard herself over the pounding of her heart. "Link, I really like you."

He stood there, in his uniform, the green of captaincy making his shoulders so square and the perfect cut of his collar outlining the lines of his throat, his pins and buttons perfectly polished. Skies, he was almost dressed like her father had dressed in her memories, during the formal balls, his emperor's uniform so pristine, so crisp, the wool coarse under her child's fingers.

But this was Link, so warm and friendly, so handsome, so kind…

"Zelda," he said, at last, when his own doubts were overcome and he found the words he wanted to say, "there aren't enough― I mean, that is, from the moment I picked you out of that wreckage― when you lay in the recovery ward―"

He looked frustrated for a moment, and Zelda wasn't sure she wanted to stay to hear what he had to say. But then, why else would she have come? Better have it out now than too late. Perhaps he ought to tell her he didn't want to be at court, or that she was abusing her power, forcing him into this corner―

"Zelda," he said again, "I can't find the words."

She was at a loss, her heart breaking, her shame swallowing her. She wanted to run, to hide. There was the truth of it. She wondered what she could say to salvage their friendship, at least, if there was any to salvage.

But then, he was right in front of her. She didn't know how he had crossed the room without her notice.

"I think," he said, and she saw her own doubt, fear and anguish reflected in his eyes, "I should just…"

He trailed off. His hands cupped her face and his lips fell on hers, soft and warm. The sensation was new and unexpected, and for a moment nothing registered, so she closed her eyes to ponder―

Then, it dawned. When she had been a little girl, she had playfully kissed Shad a few times, as a game. This was nothing like it. Her heart began to beat at a frantic pace. The smell of Link, the warmth of his hands, the calluses of his palms, and the coarseness of the fabric of his sleeves under her touch, the blond hair she saw through lidded eyes, the taste of his lips―

It ended too soon, her mind reeling from all the sensations that had assailed her. For a moment, she wondered if she had liked being kissed so soundly.

But when he opened his eyes and met her gaze, the doubt and the fear still there, where hers had evaporated, she decided nothing mattered except him, and she smiled broadly. She didn't know she could smile so wide, she didn't know doubt could melt into joy so quickly, she didn't know how her heart hadn't burst yet.

She did know she wanted to try kissing again. Just to make sure.

So, before he understood her response, she put her hands up on his shoulders, and pulled his nape down, to bring his face back to hers. He bent willingly enough, and that pleased her. This time she kissed him, though it was tentative. She wanted to memorize the taste of him. If he yielded to her investigation, it wasn't without some participation. His hands found her waist, and pulled her in close, slowly and firmly. She let him, and pulled herself closer too, pressing herself against him, their hearts close enough to touch. To feel his own pulse against her fingers, he felt as breathless as she did. She didn't want to breathe anymore, in case it scared him away.

He wrenched his lips away, but his hands stayed on her hips. He had snapped to reality even though she hadn't wanted to. "Zelda―"

Please, don't say anything, she wanted to beg. I'm afraid.

"Don't tell, Link and no one needs to know." It was as close to begging as she would come. It was hard to decide what she was begging for. His silence? His touch? His love?

I'll take what he will give me. Still. It was terrifying to be at his mercy. She had never been at anyone's mercy before. She knew he would not harm her, but perhaps that was the most painful truth of all. Perhaps he would never yield more, and she wouldn't beg more. It went against all she ever was.

Perhaps he saw her desperation, and it mirrored his own. He leaned in again, and kissed her, his lips hard and his hands holding her waist tight. This kiss was rough and full of everything he had ever felt. She saw his smile in her mind's eye, the friendly grins, the playful smirks, the way he focused on work, the way he turned problems over to solve the puzzles he encountered, the devotion he had for Sheik and Colin and Aryll and his grandmother, the way he looked as he had piloted the Flit into Windfall, the way he seemed concerned for her during the way from Hyrule to Waker, the polite distance, the stammering when she spoke to him at first, the excitement on his face when she had woken, that day in the infirmary, the gentle voice lulling her while she was out for days, the firm hands pulling her through the rain and the mud, the grunting of exertion as he hauled her up―

He hauled her up, and she squeaked. They laughed breathlessly.

Yes, she thought, touching his cheek, looking into his sharp blue eyes, no one needs to know. He smiled, so beautiful, so warm, so strong. No one needs to know. Just once, please, just once, forget who I am.

"Just tonight," he promised, or perhaps he begged, as though he could hear her thoughts, "Just once, and then I'll never ask anything of you ever again."

"Once," she replied, her heart pounding. "No one needs to know. No one will ever know."

It rent her heart to think of the finality of it, but she couldn't ask for more. Not even an empress can command eternal love, and only a god could stop time.

Much later, as he lay next to her, he mumbled something in her hair.

She whispered, "What?"

He sleepily repeated, "I would die happy tomorrow."

The silence stretched, then, and she wondered if he had fallen asleep. Her heart broke.

"Don't die," she whispered fiercely. Don't kill me.

But he was a soldier, and she was a fool without a name.


	33. 2-16 - The Sacrifice

**They're updating the servers at work, so I'm sitting idly by. I figured I may as well post. Oh man oh man, shit's about to go down.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 16: THE SACRIFICE**

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><p><em>28<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Twilight, Nightfall<br>City Core_

Dark let one of the men from the Resistance tend to his eye, for what that was worth. The bruised one had drastically improved, but it was still very painful. He didn't want to think of the other one. Walking and seeing was difficult at best. He could crack his one good eye open, but there was no depth to his vision, and the experience was unpleasant. Chuckling, they had given him an eyepatch, which made everyone a lot more comfortable with looking at him head on. That was a mild relief, if nothing else.

He let his good eye slip towards Midna. They sat in the darkness, all of them, she and her supporters. They were few enough, as many of the mothers and children had gone to whatever home they still had. Over the solid railing against which Dark currently leaned, the large room of the City Core sprawled, mostly empty. In the middle, on a pedestal, the Sol sat in a socket, feeding power lines that vanished under the floor and into the walls. It looked unlike anything Dark had ever seen. Midna had abandoned her efforts to track the other Sol. She suspected it had already left the city, to finally reach New Kasuto.

But this one was all that mattered, she said. She had asked the Resistance to spread word of Zant's treachery, but she'd had no feedback. Dark suspected the worst. Zant had as many ears and eyes, if not more, as Midna did. So they were camped out here, waiting for him to act.

Mond had promised her they would have a live feed to the city's defence screens, broadcasting any showdown to every public space, but he was still fiddling with wires, to no avail. City planners didn't make the best signal hijackers.

Dark hissed when the improvised doctor who was tending him prodded at his burns. They'd applied a salve on it, but the burned skin was so sensitive he couldn't really pick anything up without nearly crying out in pain.

"It will heal," the doctor assured him, but that was small comfort.

Dark nodded wordlessly, closing his eye. How did he end up here? He tried to feel upset, to summon regret, even for his actions at Great Fish, but it was a lost cause. He thought of Nabooru for a moment. If he died, she might never know. She was a good friend, and she cared. Few people cared for him. That was too bad. Maybe she only knew he was a traitor. Maybe she hated him now. He didn't want to think about that.

He tried to think of Nabooru's breasts. That had always cheered him.

But it was no use either. In fact, he had trouble recalling Nabooru's face in its details. He tried to focus, but he felt like he only got her eyes right, and her nose was all wrong, and her mouth… he didn't remember her mouth, or quite the shape of her face.

I'm pathetic, he told himself, to avoid thinking about how sad he was. There was no future ahead in which he belonged. He had always been able to see further, somehow, but now he had a sense of finality he couldn't explain. He'd never see Nabooru again, probably. This operation of Midna's was a foolish idea, and suicidal, besides. Zant had gloated enough. He'd suffer no more delays. If both Midna and her resistance were here, he'd kill them all.

Death didn't scare him, really, but the meaninglessness of his existence had begun to. That made him uncomfortable. He'd always been alright with existing for someone else's purpose. Now, he wasn't so sure.

To distract himself, he focused on condensing the humidity in the air into a small bubble of water, and he played with it. It was a difficult exercise, but it kept his mind clear.

"Dark."

Midna's voice dispersed the water. It fell to the ground into a puddle. So much for that.

He watched the weak light reflecting on the puddle. He wasn't sure what to say, so he settled for a joke. "Your prettiness?"

She didn't look pretty, which was the joke. She was covered in grime from the sewers, and she smelled as foul as the rest of them. The men had summarily washed their hands and faces, but their clothes still looked covered in mud and other unsavoury substances.

"I just wanted to say thank you," she said.

Oh. What could he say to that? "You're welcome. Thank you for what?"

"Your loyalty, and your courage, and your… company."

"I owe that much, at least, to my friends." He forced a relaxed smile.

She smiled in return, but the smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "Zant will be here any minute. I don't want you to do anything stupid. You're in no state to fight."

She looked down at his hands, and he followed her gaze. Then, lighter than he felt, he said, "Oh, this? Just a flesh wound."

"Exactly," she flatly said, though he was sure there was amusement in her reply.

She sat next to him, and they settled into silence.

They waited, and though she had been sure of their enemy's impending arrival, it took another hour before they heard sound from somewhere in the building. It was an echo, like a door closing with a boom. Immediately, Midna and the others tensed. Silently, they motioned to each other to head for the stairs. Dark wondered what to do with himself. Midna had a point: he couldn't fight.

He didn't like being useless. He watched Mond struggle even more with the broadcast lines, and decided he couldn't wait on the sidelines.

When the door to the Core opened, Zant strode through with a group of soldiers, some of which were the ones who had arrested him, two days ago. He wouldn't forget.

He couldn't see Midna or the others, but he knew she was there, in the shadows, cloaked.

Zant was too proud.

"Adno, Obney, unlatch the Sol."

The two soldiers went to obey. Dark headed for the stairs. He heard a gunshot, and scrambled down the steps even faster. When he entered the Core, he saw that Obney lay on the floor, bleeding out, already dead. Adno, for his part, had drawn his gun out and was trying to locate the source of the bullet. Zant was furious.

The Sol was guarded by a latch, but Zant pulled on a lever, and the latch came up with a hiss. The light from the Sol was bright, and cast long shadows around them, making the pools of shadow in the corners of the room even darker.

"I'll reveal these fools," Zant growled.

Several things happened at once. The monitors that surrounded the room all lit up, and blinking lights indicated that, finally, something was being recorded. Then, Adno trained the gun on Dark, noticing him in the doorway, and pulled the trigger.

But the bullet never hit Dark, because it hit a cloaked Resistance man in the face. It was horrifically gruesome, and mesmerizing, and Dark watched the shadow cloak ooze away from the hapless man and leave only his bloodied face and his crumpled corpse.

Zant touched the Sol, and a bright light flared out, and even the other cloaks had to vanish in the wake of such light. Dark watched as the men and Midna, blinded, were revealed. If they couldn't see, they were sitting ducks. Dark ran and shoved Zant. They both landed heavily, and Dark landed on his burned hands, and cried out as red hot pain snaked up his arms.

But it had served as a distraction. Adno shot at the spot where both Zant and he had previously been, and Zant's other men realized they were outnumbered.

But they were armed and armoured. Midna's resistance was not nearly so.

Zant climbed on Dark, and grabbed his collar, and banged Dark's head repeatedly against the floor. "Graves and dusk! Why won't you die?" He punctuated each word with a bang. Dark's head rang, and he saw spots. He shoved his hand into Zant's face, and tried to pry him off. But Zant found Dark's throat and began to squeeze. His right hand was badly positioned, but his left found the trachea and was making Dark dizzier by the second.

Then, Zant stood up, but Dark was out of commission. He lay next to the Sol's pedestal, coughing, and the sharp shadows seemed to swim.

His ears ringing, his vision uncertain, he tried to make sense of his surroundings. Zant was speaking. He sounded like he was gloating. Dark knew why his ears were ringing. While Zant had been strangling him, there had been many more gunshots. Once revealed, the men of the resistance had fallen like leaves. They lay in death, sprawled around the room, and Midna now stood, with only two other men to protect her. All the guns were trained on her.

"That's it," Zant said, triumphantly. "Now, you die, Midna Black. Shoot!"

"No!" Dark croaked.

Zant turned, and the gunmen seemed to hesitate. They spared him a glance. They all thought he was dead.

"You're a hard man to kill, Dark Knight," Zant said, laughing. He leaned in to breathe in Dark's face. Dark was too weak to push away. "I don't know why you clung to a sinking ship like it was jetsam, but now, you're free. I free you!" Zant was laughing, his arms outstretched like wings. Dark hated him so much, it burned in his gut.

But Zant's distraction had allowed Midna to lunge forward. She grabbed Zant violently by the neck, pulling him away from Dark, and spun him around, using him like a shield. In the confusion, the guards didn't fire, unable to find a steady target.

Zant was strong, but Midna fought with the strength of desperation.

"If you want to live," she said, "you will leave the Sol in its socket, where it must stay."

Zant laughed in her grip. "You're a fool, Midna Black. I will live, and you will die. And the Sol will power Gohma once more."

"It's a war machine! The people of Nightfall need the Sol more!"

"They have their own power supplies. You're a fool," he repeated. "You cling to false righteousness like it will save you. Bow to your inevitable obsolescence!"

Dark pushed himself to his feet, his whole body aching. If he could stab Zant, the soldiers would leave them all alone. But neither he nor Midna had a weapon. If anyone shot Zant or Midna, they'd hit both the rulers, and no side wanted that on their conscience.

"Ganondorf Dragmire is using Twilight only for the Sol," Midna said, desperately. She looked half manic in the bright light of the Sol, which cast deep shadows in the circles of her eyes and her gaunt cheeks. "He'll kill you when he has them."

"Dragmire needs me," Zant shouted. "He didn't need you! I will rule Twilight for him. Seize the Sol!"

"Don't!" Midna warned the men fiercely. "I'll kill him!"

"With what?" Zant laughed. "You can't harm me."

Midna summoned fire on her fingertips. The men recoiled away from her, but fear made them obey Zant nonetheless, and they inched to the Sol. She burned Zant's cheek. He howled in pain.

"Leave it!"

"TAKE IT, YOU FOOLS."

Midna burned Zant some more, and he howled like a wounded beast, and the smell of burning flesh filled Dark's nostrils, making him feel like retching. But the men reached for the Sol, and de-socketed it. The hum that had been constant around them wavered.

"No!" Midna shouted, but it was in vain. Her fingers faltered, and the flame with it. Zant disentangled himself from her in one smooth movement, casting her to the ground, and reached out, lifting the Sol out of the socket. Everything around them died out at once, and only an eerie glow of diodes dying filled the room, now silent but for everyone's harsh breathing.

"No!" Midna cried. Dark remembered her warnings. The hospitals, the transportation, the oxygen supplies―

Zant grabbed the glowing Sol and there were more gunshots. Adno had shot Midna's last men as they retreated. Dark threw himself on Midna, shielding her from harm. A bullet bit him in the lower back, and ripped out of his side. He screamed, but she was crying with rage, clawing at him without recognizing him.

"I have to stop him! The people―"

Dark didn't think. He watched Zant and his cronies escape the room, and with them, the last source of light.

She was right. The people needed time to switch to a new power source. Fast.

"Midna," he breathed, the pain excrutiating, "I'm sorry."

He got up, and, grappling to find his bearings, and his eyes filled with the gaping socket. It was large, and circular, and there were over a hundred needles there, retracted, waiting to draw power. His whole body recoiled, but there was no other way.

No other way, his mind shouted, but every instinct he had stopped his body, refusing to obey him for a split second. He could only hear the loudness of the silence in his mind, though he was sure Midna was screaming all sorts of obscenities.

She saw what he was doing too late. She must have screamed at him, but he was deaf to everything but the hum of his blood, pumping into his ears.

He threw himself into the socket. It clamped down on him, driving needles into him, and the pain grew white and blinding.

"Dark! _No_!"

But somehow, in the corner of his vision, he saw the screens were recording again, he saw the power flickering back to life.

The ultimate sacrifice, he thought with distinct clarity.

"_Dark_!"

The pain grew, and grew, and the light faded out in his mind as the light grew in the room. Yes, take my life. It has no worth, but it will save her people. He let the Sol's demanding socket take his life. He could stretch it out, he knew. A minute and a half more of this agony, he reasoned. A minute and a half more, and the secondary power supplies will have taken over. I need only buy this time for her.

He felt her clawing at him, trying to remove him, but she wasn't strong enough, and he was clinging tightly to the socket. No, Midna. This is it. He tried to voice it, but all that came out of his mouth was a long, agonizing wail.

She cried out his name, a long, lancinating sound, but it was no use. He could hardly hear it anymore. Even the pain was growing distant. Even her…

For what could have only been a second, Dark wondered if he could make his last thought worthy of remembrance. Something for the ages, something the books could recall, but it seemed there was nothing that sprung to mind.

It was pathetic. He was sure he had been witty, before. With the white pain that ate at his very strength, with the needles feeding on his life, only one thought seemed clearly defined, and it was unworthy of note.

… I must have loved her.


	34. 2-17 - The Widow

**To my everlasting shame, I've rediscovered the Backstreet Boys and I think everyone should try singing along to_ Quit Playing Games with My Heart _to better capture what 90s heartbreak was like. (Special points if you say "baybeh" with feeling.) I decided to follow their advice and chose not to make any of you languish any longer than you strictly have to.**

**Okay, so here's what's really up. I have a pretty big weekend coming up, so I'm releasing this (admittedly short) chapter a little ahead of schedule. I'll post the last chapter of Part 2 on Monday or Tuesday, after which comes the third and final section. I think Part 3 is, er, like, 20 more chapters. I'm not sure, I didn't count. I hope you're all okay with that. I know I'll be glad when I can wrap it all up in a nice little bundle.**

**KEEP THE REVIEWS COMING SO I CAN STAVE OFF MY DEEP INSECURITIES. THEY HAUNT ME IN THE DEEP OF NIGHT.**

**... I just counted the remaining chapters. Here's the breakdown: 1 more in Part 2 and 23 in Part 3. Exciting!**

**Love,  
><strong>**CM**

**P.S. SHOW ME THE MEANIN' OF BEIN' LONELAYYY. IS THIS THE FEELIN' I NEED TO WALK WITH? TELL ME WHYYYY I CAN'T BE THEEERE WHERE YOU AAAARE. THERE'S SOMETHING MISSIN' IN MY HEART.  
><strong>

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><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 17: THE WIDOW**

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><p><em>29<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Twilight, Nightfall<br>City Core_

Midna felt numb. It registered that she should have been in pain. All she felt, though, was a gaping void where her insides had been.

The Core was dark again. The light was out, the energy gone like wispy smoke. Hours had passed, or perhaps years.

Was this my fault? It must have been. I'm still alive.

Her hands ached. They had been pricked by needles when she had tried to pull his dying body out of the socket, but that had been a worthless effort.

Midna forced herself to look at him, and almost immediately recoiled in anguish. Through tears ―she hadn't cried in years, and now she couldn't seem to stop― she saw his dry husk, unrecognizable from the handsome, smirking man he had been. He was gruesome in death, wrinkled, all life sucked out of him. The clothes were loose, like they fit a man twice his size. He could have been only skin, ready to crumble into dust at the merest touch. Midna wanted to retch, but it wasn't with disgust.

It must have been my fault.

She hated herself for this. She had saved him! It was so unfair!

"Your highness."

"Leave me alone."

Mond didn't dare approach any closer. He looked deeply troubled, and he was wringing his hands.

"Your highness, I can call someone to bury him."

Midna wanted to hiss and scratch at him. Instead, she turned on him and screamed, revelling in the echo of her voice in the empty room, "LEAVE US." The more it echoed, the less it sounded human.

There was a pause, but then, he spoke again. Mond was afraid. She wondered what he was afraid of. "I sent people after Zant. They managed to relieve him of the Sol, but he got away. We have secured the Sol, your highness."

Midna knew she ought to have been ecstatic. Instead, all she could ask was a weak, "How?" She sounded so frail, after that scream.

Mond cleared his throat. "Well, the broadcast, your highness. I managed to get it working just in time. Zant couldn't get far, but then, he _can_ use Magic, so he contrived to escape… At least, everyone saw what happened here. Or most of it, anyway, even with that, ahem, short power outage. Enough to convince them of who was on whose side."

"What does that mean?" Midna asked, humouring him. She was too tired to think, too weak to ponder.

"It means the people have largely turned their backs on Zant, your highness. They are yours to command once again."

Midna turned away, and forced herself to look at Dark, or what remained of him. It pulled at her, stretching her skin, tearing at her insides.

It's guilt, she realized. I've failed.

"Your highness, Zant has escaped, but without the Sol to power Gohma, he cannot have gone far. Just say the word, and we'll have him back in your custody."

He can run, Midna wanted to say. Let him choke on sand and burn in the sun. Let him be forgotten. Let him die, let him die, let him die. Sands, I let him die…

Instead, she nodded. "We'll catch him."

Mond looked relieved to see her finally responding, and he turned to leave, but she cleared her throat and blinked tears away.

"Mond."

Now, he looked genuinely afraid of her, but she couldn't say why. She was calm now. Calm like a mountain lake, calm like a dune under the sun, calm like the towering mountains, calm as shadow. She was calm. That wasn't scary. She wanted to snap his neck for looking so afraid.

"Your highness?"

She forced herself to look at Dark once more. She paused, to make sure she wouldn't choke, and said, calmly, "Bring a shroud and a bier."

"I can order a sand grave be dug, in a place of honour," Mond said, carefully.

"No," she said. Calm as shadow and night. "He comes with us."

"With us, your highness?" Mond's voice was weak and tremulous now.

Midna shot Dark one last look, in the place where he lay. From this angle, he almost seemed to be smiling, his papery skin stretched on his face, his damaged eyes shut like he was at peace. A stab of sharp pain struck her heart. She was sure she had no heart left, but it burned now, and it ached and seemed to want to claw its way out of her chest.

She turned away resolutely and stepped down from the pedestal. To Mond, she firmly said, "If the people are with me, prepare them for war. We're going to Hyrule."

"Hyrule? Shouldn't we consolidate your rule first?"

She was calm as shadows, but an inkling of rage tried to burst through her facade. She suppressed the rage and forced it under the calm. "It's as strong as it will ever be. I'm going to Hyrule with him." She meant Dark, and Mond seemed perturbed by the thought. "Zant will run to his master, and his master will be in Hyrule soon. We have pledged fealty to Hylia, and I will see that pledge respected."

"We have declared for the Guardian Coalition, your majesty. You did so yourself. If we turn on them, we'll be Dragmire's enemy so soon after your return―"

"See what Ganondorf Dragmire and his Guardians are worth!" She shouted, motioning to Dark, but she couldn't bear to look at him again so soon. "There is our allegiance, Mond. And he is dead. Now, we will avenge him."

Sand, seas and skies, we will avenge him. The Twili will march to war, and I will lead them to the battlefield myself. The Twili can fight, and I will fight to the death.

"I will need Gohma," she said, striding out of the room. Nightfall had paid for its Sol dearly and was now running on back up power. She would not waste the new resource.

She waited until she knew that Dark was removed from the socket and shrouded on the bier. Four men of the Resistance carried him behind her.

As she stepped out of the City Core, she found the masses there waiting. That surprised her. They cheered when they saw her. There was no cheer in her heart. Her generals, the ones who had turned on her so swiftly when she had lost her power, were all kneeling on the steps, heads bowed so low in shame she knew they were terrified of her wrath.

Let them fear me. I have never wanted war and fear so much. Let their fear give me strength.

"Generals."

They tensed, her cool tone chilling them with raw terror. But neither wanted to be the first to turn tail and flee. The crowd would kill them for the dishonour. Midna let a cold smile stretch her lips.

"Rise, all of you. We go to war."

They obeyed slowly, confusion making them eye each other with uncertainty.

One of them cleared his throat and dared to speak: "War, your grace?"

Midna shot him a warning look, and, pleased that he didn't question her any more, walked away from them. She stepped right into the crowd, and it swarmed around her, though none dared to touch her. They fell silent, and behind her, Dark's funereal march began. She didn't turn to make sure they followed. The crowds murmurs indicated recognition. This was the queen's sacrifice...

There was a statue in the middle of the plaza before the City Core, of some great Twili king dead ages ago, and she strode up to its low pedestal, to look at her people.

"We go to war!" She shouted over the silence. She made a strange sight, standing tall, calm and regal in her soiled clothes. "No more despair! We go to blood and vengeance!" Her throat ached, she screamed it so loud. "TO WAR."

"_TO WAR!_" The crowd echoed.

Midna's eyes fell to Dark's bier, the four men carrying it struggling through the crowd of people trying to touch it, for a blessing or good luck, it was impossible to say.

Her heart lurched, like a final spasm of ache and love. Her eyes steeled. Her hands throbbed, but she clenched them.

To war, she thought, and no more despair.


	35. 2-18 - The Flitter

**This is the last chapter of Pawns in a Game (or Part 2). It doesn't really end on a cliffhanger, but it finishes setting the scene for the tumultuous and careening final part, which is incidentally called Fighting Gravity, like the story title (I am one original cookie). Some of you have already remarked on the underlying themes of "fate" and "destiny" so I'm glad they're not as invisible as I feared they would be when I first drafted the story.**

**Without any further rambling, please enjoy, and let me know what you think of the story so far.  
><strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

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><p><strong><span>PART 2:<span> PAWNS IN A GAME**

**CHAPTER 18: THE FLITTER**

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><p><em>29<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Windfall airspace_

Link didn't want to admit how good he felt. All his apprehension about taking command again, after what felt like an eternity, had been in vain. He didn't know the pilots of the squadron Darunia had assigned him very well, but he honestly didn't feel like anything could rain on his sunny disposition today.

Princess Zelda had been gone by the time he'd awoken. He wondered if he had dreamed her, at first, until he saw she had left him a note wishing him 'good hunting'. He carried it in his uniform vest's inside pocket now, against his heart. It was a foolish notion, but he felt better carrying it.

He hadn't seen her again that morning. The horns had sounded the enemy's arrival. They were late by a few hours. Link wondered at that. It would have made more sense to press the attack early and surprise them during their sleep, if anyone managed to sleep soundly. He'd managed a few hours of slumber, but he doubted that was widespread.

There was no time to doubt or question what Zelda's visit had meant. She liked him well enough, that was obvious. He wasn't going to expect more. Skies, he'd had more than any man could hope for.

His assigned Flit felt familiar, his squadron knew all the formations he typically used… Things were as good as they would get.

After a short briefing session, which was really more of an introduction than a game plan, Link had followed his pilots out to the airfield. The battle had already begun, but it felt half-hearted. The enemy navy and airships never got close enough to damage Waker seriously. Even the 'Groosenator' never got a good shot. So Darunia and Ashei had agreed that Windfall's forces should fly out and meet them in the air rather than sit it out.

"They're just teasing us," Pipit smiled, annoyed. He had a perpetual smile, but he managed to give that smile every emotion possible. He was also the most outspoken of his flitters.

Pipit, Parrow, Orielle, Keet, Eagus, Karane and Fledge were all flitters who had joined the army after Link, but they were like to give even Link a run for his money, Darunia promised. They were apparently on their way to captaincy themselves, and this was a final test.

"They might be teasing, but when they fire, they can hurt you," Link said, mildly. It was ill luck to mention death before a mission. "Alright, stay trained on me. We need to harass their carriers."

They all climbed into their respective Flits, and were hastened through the take-off procedure. Windmill Hill was in a hurry to get them into the air as fast as possible.

In his left field, Link saw Darunia's dreadnought lining up to fire at the battleships. Something bothered him with the layout of the battle. Windfall seemed ridiculously well-defended, against all of their estimates. Why didn't their enemy throw all of its force against them? He could see the naval ships waiting, like they weren't decided. And they were far fewer than they ought to have been. They could break them with one focused push, but Pipit had said the truth. They were just teasing Windfall. _Where_ was the brunt of the attack? At this rate, Windfall's forces would whittle them to nothing.

He tuned into Darunia's channel. "Link Forester here― do we have a target?"

'_Hassle their north flank. They have a carrier there with enough Flits to hurt us badly_,' was the order he got over the crackling airwaves. Darunia spared him no particular courtesies, as was expected. Impa Shades had been just the same, curt and to the point.

Hassling. He could do that.

"Bank to your three," he told his squadron. "Keep to geese formation." The geese formation was V-shaped, named that way so that it was a recognizable sound over unreliable headsets. "We're striking the carrier. Follow my lead and spare no munitions." They had the possibility of returning to ground for more as needed. It cost time, but it was comforting to think they were over friendly territory.

The squadron dived in formation, smoothly and swiftly. Link felt the exhilaration take him once again. The carrier below seemed to swim up to meet him, but the force of the descent kept his bearings clear. His dive wasn't easy, but the others followed fine.

He opened fire. He mostly wanted to cripple the Flits on deck, but he didn't mourn the people who were in the way either.

The pass they made seemed so short it made him crave more, so he banked right and made a wide turn, to strike at the carrier from the north. This time, it returned fire. He heard two bullets strike one of his wings, but suffered no change in bearing or engine strength.

"Stay focused, and don't play the hero," he said, when his squad reported their own contacts. Only Karane had suffered a hit that could be critical, but she hadn't sounded worried, and Link trusted her instincts.

They swept down over the carrier, and Link was pleased to see the enemy Flits burn up.

This time, though, several took off, and swerved on the west horizon, to join the fray.

"Ease up," he said, giving the lead as he pulled the throttle back and ascended, pushing his propeller and his hovercrafts in the same direction for speed. The others followed, and so did their enemies.

"On my mark, break formation," he said, waiting for the enemy Flits to join them in a more open area of the sky. He wanted the Flits away from Windfall and its people's more vulnerable defences.

When the Flits had joined them, opening fire, Link barked a sharp, "Now!" and immediately dropped his altitude and speed, falling behind and below, to strike down a Flit from under. It endured his fire just a second too long, and finally one of its hovercrafts caught fire, and it began to list, losing altitude. For good measure, Link loosed another few rounds, and severed what he knew to be an oil line leading to the propeller. The Flit careened out of the sky, tumbling to the sea.

Link was too much in the moment, his heart in his throat and his blood pumping, to worry about the life that had cost.

As he regained his altitude, weaving and shooting to distract the other Flits, the ones that were pursuing his squad mates, he noticed a glint off to his left.

He pushed on the throttle just in time to dodge ― in his descent, he veered to see what it was.

It was a Flit, painted a silvery grey, with the red symbol of the Gerudo tribe Ganondorf Dragmire had been born into plastered on its wings and tail. On the front, though, under the cockpit, a large metal ram, shaped like a smooth harpoon, shone like a blade in the sunlight.

Link felt ill. That had been too close.

As though it were animated with a vengeful rage, the Flit turned swiftly on itself, propeller roaring, and charged him again. Link veered, and pushed the engines to try to escape.

But the enemy wouldn't let him go. That made Link nervous. Most of the time, in an aerial battle, you tried to strike down anyone you could, without prejudice, with barely a grudge. Air duels were legendary, but they never came out well for either party.

So why was this flitter going against all the battle rules? A quick glance at Windfall told him they were still holding strong. Extraordinarily so. That was just as odd. Below, on the sea, were enough ships and aircrafts to utterly raze the island-city, and they weren't even all there.

Why weren't they firing? Were they hoping to tire Windfall out? That sort of siege wouldn't work very well, at the speed Windfall downed them, one by one.

Link dodged another ramming attempt with so little a margin that he heard the enemy's roaring engines squealing against his hull. Right. Focus. Don't play the hero.

But who was he kidding?

Link engaged ― it made his motor scream, but the Flit was in good condition, and it obeyed. He turned, to try to locate his enemy, and maybe fire straight into the cockpit when it made another ramming manoeuvre. It was a dangerous, and maybe even suicidal tactic, but that always worked to his advantage: no one expected it.

He had to admire the other pilot. Ramming a Flit was a tactic seldom used anymore, most notably because it had such a high death rate for both pilots involved. It was effective, but very dangerous.

As though he expected Link's move, though, the ramming Flit tried to take him from below, and failed when Link dropped and sped up. It was becoming a frustrating chase, and the more it dragged out, the more likely Link was to make a mistake.

Don't be a hero.

"I need assistance on the ramming Flit to my―" He checked, but didn't see it. Where was he gone? The second he searched felt like a terrifying eternity, until he saw Pipit suddenly cut across his right

Over the headset, the young pilot said, "I got him."

"Careful," Link called, relieved, turning to follow, "he's good."

Even with two Flits on his tail, the enemy was quick and agile in the sky. Link wanted to whistle low in admiration, but his breath came hard and nervous already.

"The bastard's trying to down me!" Pipit cried indignantly. He was about to be wrecked when Link finally opened fire, and the enemy swerved out of the way. Bullets pecked Pipit's aircraft for a split second, and Link cursed.

"Shit. Sorry, Pip."

"Don't mention it. This guy is one tough―"

Link never heard the rest of that sentence. Before he could do anything, the enemy had slammed, ram first, into Pipit's aircraft, the metal squealing as the two aircrafts became one and began to spiral down.

"Pip!"

Link could only watch as the enemy forced his prey into a rapid fall, engines wheezing with effort.

He was trying to force downward speed. That was suicide.

At the last second, though, the ram retracted, and the enemy Flit disengaged, recovering altitude. Pipit, for his part, continued his downward course, and splashed into the sea. It made Link's gut hurt to watch it.

He saw Windfall emergency boats hurry out to the wreck of Pipit's Flit, which was slowly sinking, with medics and safety buoys on board. But at that speed, water was like a brick wall.

Pipit…

No. Now Link was angry.

The enemy was back on him, but Link wouldn't allow himself to be tricked the same way as Pip just had. Watching the enemy's tactic had given him a slim hope for vengeance. Anyway, he couldn't let this danger stay in the sky, where all the others were. Link feared this enemy flitter alone might be enough to vanquish Windfall, if left to his own devices.

"Eagus, you have the squad. Windfall traffic control, I'm coming in hot. Clear the way."

Before his squad could protest, Link veered back to Windfall. He hoped his tail would follow. To tease his enemy ―but especially to test his own mobility― he swerved left, then right. Pleased that the engine responded as quickly and roughly as Link wanted it to, he made sure he was aiming straight at the airfield on Windfall's peninsula, and that his enemy was _right_ on his tail.

When the curve was measured to his liking, though all in all it took him only a few spare seconds, Link braked sharply, turning his craft as he careened onward, still in the proper line-up.

As expected, the enemy couldn't break his pursuit in time, and rammed Link's Flit sideways, right over the left hovercraft.

Link prayed in half a breath, turning the damaged hovercraft up. The ram, which had pierced into the cockpit, had allowed an extraordinary howl of wind in, deafening even with Link's headset. The hovercraft turned just fine, though, and Link heard the most haunting squeal of metal twisting over the wind, securing the ram into place by bending it.

He was approaching the ground of Windfall fast, but a glance back told him exactly what he wanted to know: the ram was twisted now, trapping the enemy Flit. He felt the enemy try to retract it, but it shook uselessly, screaming, and did not budge.

Now, to land.

For a split second, Link had time to realize he was going too fast, with the other Flit's added weight.

"Shit."

The Flits touched ground. It was the roughest landing Link had ever undergone. It slammed him forward and out of his seat, and he felt his belt straps biting into his flesh so hard he was sure they were going to turn him into pulp. He felt his brain hit the inside of his skull, and his teeth slammed together. His Flit's frame twisted, so the cockpit window shattered and broke onto his helplessly outstretched arms. It all seemed to happen forever.

Then, the Flit slid forward for a few meters, and stopped at last, slamming Link back, then down. He was hanging in his straps. Something smelled strongly of burning oil, but Link only saw in tunnel vision. He saw his cut hands, his bruised arms, and the broken dashboard, and the shattered glass and twisted metal. He felt pain everywhere.

For a moment, he closed his eyes.

Zelda was smiling at him. He liked when she smiled. She smiled at him like he was a friend. For a moment, he was sure he had kissed her at some point, but that was ridiculous, because― no, wait, he had kissed her. Ha ha! Of course he had. She was so beautiful, and she was smiling―

"…dier!"

He tried to open his eyes, and the pain came back, but it felt almost dull in the wake of his dream. He didn't want to be awake. Zelda was smiling.

"…oldier!"

His mouth felt like pudding. He tried to ask 'What?' and wasn't sure what annoyed him more: that his mouth couldn't shape words, or that they wouldn't let him dream.

"―unstable consciousness. Unstrap him. He needs medical attention."

He felt hands push on his shoulders, and suddenly, the straps holding him in his seat fell apart, and he crumbled to the floor. He managed a groan. His head hurt. It hurt a lot.

"Do you know your name?" The voice was annoyingly loud, and suddenly, Link was aware of plenty of new sounds. There was a gushing sound, and he saw firemen putting out a fire that had started somewhere in the back of his Flit. The ground was crooked. He couldn't see right. There was no focus. Absently, he figured that was probably important.

Someone snapped fingers in his face, close to his nose. Link almost went cross-eyed, and felt his dizziness return. Everything hurt.

The voice was curt, and finally, he saw the person speaking to him, though it felt like their words and their lips didn't coincide. "Do you remember your name, soldier?"

Sure he did. That was a stupid question.

"Yeah, do you?" His throat felt like sandpaper, and he coughed. That brought up a whole other orchestra of pain in his chest. He spat out blood. He had bit himself, probably.

"Some head trauma. Don't panic, soldier, doctors are on their way. Tell me your name."

That made Link pause. Were they sure he had a name? Wait.

Oh, right.

"Link Forester," he said, as soft as he could, trying not to hurt his lungs again.

"Your rank?"

Were they done with the incessant questions? He wanted to sleep it out. He could definitely sleep this out.

"Soldier! Your rank!"

"… Captain. Hylian Alliance." Just talking made him nauseous.

"Good, good. We'll be right here. Stay awake."

No. No way, he wasn't going to stay awake. He wanted to sleep. Sleep was good. It didn't hurt.

They lifted him. That hurt. For a moment all Link could think about was the pain. It was so overwhelming even sleep seemed to stop being so important. But then, when they placed him on a stretcher, he wanted to curl up and cry like a little boy.

The sunlight was blinding. Link closed his eyes.

Zelda was smiling. She was beautiful when she smiled. He wished she did that more often.

He woke up an infinity of seconds later. It felt like he had blinked, but now he was in the infirmary.

Wait... How?

"Hey," a voice drawled, from the chair next to his bed. "Hey, captain."

Link wanted to turn his head, but everything hurt, and moving made him dizzy. He glanced down, confused, very drugged. There were deep purple marks criss-crossing on his bare chest. Weird. His forearms were bandaged, but he saw some bright red blood seeping through. So weird.

Everything swam. Link closed his eyes, to make it stop, but that didn't help.

"Hey, captain, it's just the painkillers got you high. Not every day you walk away from a crash like that."

Who was that? Link turned his head, but it felt like he had expended all his energy to do it.

For a moment he stared without understanding. Then, the face finally clicked, somewhere in his memory.

Sheik? Yes. Sheik. Sheik Strike.

"What time is it?" He asked dumbly.

"Uhhh…" Sheik looked tired, but he clearly had more wits about him than Link did. "Well, four in the morning. Quintember 30th."

"I've been out―"

"Some eighteen hours, I think. Hard to say. You've been in and out all night."

Link didn't recall that. Sheik didn't seem to expect him to. "What happened?"

Sheik ran a hand through his hair. It was growing longer. They had been among civilians for a while now. "Well, you did something crazy, and now we have a Guardian prisoner to interrogate. Thanks for that."

A Guardian prisoner. Good. Zelda would be glad of that… Skies. Where was Zelda?

"The battle―"

"It's still ongoing, but honestly…" Sheik sighed and shook his head. "I don't get it. They're feinting all the time. We scouted their forces, and we found a lot of Guardian salvage ships off the coasts of the Gods' open water, where the Tower ruins are. It's like, why bother attacking Windfall? We're winning over time. We think there's something preventing them from committing one hundred percent. Or maybe there's good fishing in the Gods' ruins." He laughed. "That's the only explanation I've got."

Link was too drugged to think clearly. Zelda. She had been smiling.

"Zelda―"

"She's been in to visit," Sheik said, and Link didn't understand the strange smile that stretched Sheik's lips. "You don't know the worry you're putting her through."

She wished me good hunting. Link wanted to groan.

Instead, he focused on something else. "Prisoner?"

"Yeah," Sheik said, smirking. "You caught a Guardian captain. Damon Fierce, he's called, but that's all we know right now. His badges and papers seem to imply he was stationed at the Forsaken Fortress. Total bullshit, I know."

In the haze of painkillers, it was strange, the things that came to him now. "Hey Sheik. What does KO stand for after all?"

Sheik looked confused, then realization dawned on him. "Oh." He frowned, amused. "_Koholint_, captain. Like I thought. The _GC Koholint_ was the aircraft carrier you were hassling before you got wrecked."

"Good to know," Link whispered, closing his eyes.

He could sleep a few more days. Nobody would notice.

"Hey, captain," Sheik insisted, "you better focus on getting better quick. They're going to interrogate Captain Fierce tonight, and it won't be pretty. Might be you'll want to put your word in before they hurt him. Over killing Pipit, mostly."

Link tried to focus his gaze on Sheik. This was important, but everything swam. "Can I walk?"

Sheik shrugged. "I guess. You're awake, and that seemed to be the doctors' main concern. You're battered and bruised, but you're all in one piece. That's more than they can say for Pip." Sheik's gaze darkened. Link felt a dull ache too.

But he could walk. Good.

"Wake me up this afternoon."

"If I can," Sheik sighed, but Link wasn't paying attention. He closed his eyes, and fell asleep. Zelda was smiling, and that mattered more than anything else in the world.


	36. 3-1 - The Brother

**So. As I said earlier, here is the first chapter of Part 3. Hope you enjoy.**

**Love,  
>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3<span>: ****FIGHTING GRAVITY  
><strong>

**CHAPTER 1: THE BROTHER**

* * *

><p><em>30<em>_th__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Windmill Hill_

Kidd waited in silence. He was getting good at waiting. To his right, the stern-looking woman called Ashei Snow stood, rigidly, and eyed him out of the corner of her eye, but she hadn't said a word yet. Kidd pretended he hadn't noticed, but it bothered him. He was young, but not so young that he was a child anymore. They all treated him like he was, though.

Except Link. And Princess Zelda. That was nice.

He glanced for the hundredth time into the window, saw nothing, and tried not to fidget. He didn't want Ashei Snow to think he was nervous. Because he wasn't. Street kids had nothing to worry about when they had something in their belly. He'd overheard Shad― nah, _Four-Eyes_ say it.

Four-Eyes knew a lot, but deep down, he didn't know a thing.

"Kidd, you said your name was?"

That was Ashei Snow's first and poor attempt at conversation. Kidd didn't mind awkward questions. He had a habit of expressing himself badly too.

He nodded in response. She fell into silence again, but Kidd wasn't sure whether that meant she wanted something more or if it was enough.

"No family name?" She pried again, clearing her throat.

Kidd tried not to peer into the window again. "No family," he said, simply. The streets kids from home didn't count, though when the artillery fired overheard and he heard the high whistling of engines in the sky, somewhere unseen but too close for comfort, he found he missed them.

"I heard you followed Forester here to find your brother," Ashei admonished, to call out his lie about family.

So. Link had been up front. Well, fine.

"I did."

"No luck?"

Kidd shook his head. Ashei made a noise, but Kidd couldn't tell if it was sympathy or lack of interest. He didn't care. He shot a look into the window again.

This time, Ashei was exasperated. "They'll come for you when they're done."

Kidd was irked. He knew that. It didn't make the waiting any less unbearable. He tried to appeal to her. "I _just_ need to talk to Link." Link hadn't completely recovered, but he had wanted to be there for the interrogation, and Kidd hadn't been able to tag along.

"He'll be out eventually," Ashei repeated.

Kidd gave up. She was as intractable as the Death Mountains. "Will they kill him?" He wasn't talking about Link, this time.

Ashei Snow pursed her lips, but she said, "We don't kill if we don't have to. The Hylian Alliance always had strict prisoner of war policies, yeah?"

"But you're torturing him, in there."

Ashei shot him a dark look. "Hopefully not. If he knows what's best for him, he'll talk without coercion."

"Well, he won't," Kidd said morosely, sinking further into his seat.

"Don't be so sure."

"You don't be so sure."

Ashei looked annoyed. "We have passive ways of making prisoners talk. It's not all shackles and electric prods in there, you know."

Kidd assumed his best childish look. "So, can I watch?"

She frowned. She had dark circles under her eyes, and dark hair from Snowhead. He didn't know a lot of people from Snowhead. It was the place people went for mountain vacations, in all the advertisements he'd seen in Castleton. He didn't know anyone who could afford to go on vacation, though. Not to Lake Hylia, not to Snowhead Vale, and certainly not to the Death Mountain Springs.

The war had reduced the number of vacationers, too. The newspapers said vacation spots were dying out. Kidd thought that served them right, for being so expensive.

"That sort of curiosity is a bit morbid, yeah?"

"How morbid can it be?" Now, he had her. "You just said you weren't gonna torture him."

Ashei looked at him with a whole new mix of annoyance and suspicion. Well, Kidd played the awkward youth rather well now and again. It served. _Maybe now she'll stop thinking I'm just some stupid boy_.

She was about to speak when they heard a set of footfalls behind the window. Kidd turned around. The window opened on a hallway, down which Link, Darunia and a gaoler walked, towards them. They passed into a side door, and Kidd got to his feet. A short moment later, Link and Darunia, looking exhausted, came into the waiting room of the prison complex. Link walked slowly and stiffly. His arms were bandaged and his torso looked bruised all the way to his collarbone, and some way up his neck, if the bandages were any indication. But it was the frustration in his gaze that spoke the most.

"No luck?" Ashei asked, to the point.

Darunia shook his head. "He's a stubborn bastard. What's the boy doing here?" The change in subject was as abrupt as his manner. Kidd didn't mind. Darunia was brusque, but he was kind and proud, and had taken a shining to Waker and its directness.

"I need to talk to Link," Kidd said, and shot Link an urgent look, hoping he wouldn't set him aside again.

Link looked tired, but he smiled thinly. "Well, I'm here. We're taking a break, and letting him simmer," he told Ashei. "He knows our terms."

"Link," Kidd insisted. "Come on."

Ashei and Darunia began to talk about the prisoner. Kidd wanted to listen, but this was more important.

"What is it?" Link asked, stiffly walking aside with him, and lowering his voice. Kidd wondered if he was annoying him just by being there. Link's eyes didn't betray anything, though, except polite curiosity. That was good enough.

"The prisoner. He's―."

"A captain of the Guardian Coalition. He's a great pilot, I'll hand him that, but―"

"I know him."

For a moment, Link didn't seem to hear. He stared at Kidd, blinking, while the words sunk in. Kidd worried. He wouldn't believe―

"What?"

"His name. The captain. His name is Damon Fierce."

"Yes…?" Link shot Ashei a confused look, but the woman was too caught up in her conversation with Darunia to pay attention. So Link turned back to Kidd with a frown. "How do you know him?"

Kidd hesitated. Maybe this wasn't the time. Maybe Link wouldn't want to hear. Maybe they'd call him a traitor, or worse.

"He's my brother," Kidd blurted out in a harsh whisper.

That certainly had the effect Kidd expected. Link leaned against the wall, staring at him with disbelief written all over his tired features. He's trying to find the lie in me, Kidd realized. But there is no lie, for once.

Apparently, the same thing occurred to Link. "You're his brother. Why is he on the other side, then?"

He meant the Guardian Coalition. Kidd shrugged. "I dunno. He didn't send news for a long while." Then, Kidd reached out to grab Link's shirt sleeve, to the captain's mild surprise. "Help him, Link. He can't be bad."

Link's gaze hardened. Gently, he disengaged his arm. Then, softly, he said, "Kidd, he killed one of my pilots on the battlefield. He tried to kill me, and he would have succeeded if I hadn't taken such huge, suicidal risks. He's joined the Guardians, and it's not your fault, but maybe your brother isn't what you remember…"

"No," Kidd insisted. "I swear, Link, I'm sure―"

"Hey, Captain Forester. We're going for a quick snack. You coming?" Darunia was a commander now, but he wasn't any less warm and friendly.

"I'll stay here," Link said with a wan smile. "Playing catch up."

"Suit yourself. We'll be back in half an hour."

"Link," Kidd continued, "I know you have your reasons, but can I just talk to him? Please."

Link started to shake his head, but then paused, and eyed him sternly. Kidd could almost see the calculations behind his eyes. Right, let him think this is to his advantage. He'll let me see him if he thinks they can gain from it. Right?

Link's gaze slid to the door, through which Darunia and Ashei had exited.

Then, he exhaled loudly. "Kidd, how can you be sure? When was the last time you saw him?"

Doubts again. Always the doubts. "Link," he hissed, "I know. I just know. You could recognize Aryll after ten years, I know you could. And I know him. He's my brother, my only remaining family."

Link didn't look happy at all. He looked like he had swallowed something sour, and his eyes were stern. Even sterner than Ashei's, and that was saying something.

Before Kidd could add anything, Link had seized his arm ―with a grip that surprised him, it was so firm, despite Link's injuries― and dragged him through the security checkpoint. He dragged him past the guards, and down the hallway, and around a corner, and down a short flight of steps, and through a door into a room with a window, and through the window, Kidd saw his brother, sitting expressionlessly.

"He's hurt!" Kidd exclaimed angrily.

Link shot him a look that commanded silence. Kidd saw the bruises on his collarbone, and regretted his outburst. He wanted to apologize, but the words didn't come fast enough, and the moment was past. Link walked up to the window, and asked Kidd, one last time, "Is this really him?"

His gaze had switched from Damon Fierce to Kidd's, and Kidd saw Link desperately wanted him to be wrong. But Kidd had to be honest. "Yes."

Link looked disappointed, but Kidd didn't understand why.

"Can I talk to him?"

Link hesitated. Maybe this would undo all their work. Kidd wasn't sure he wanted them to succeed, if he were fully honest. He didn't know why his brother had joined the Guardian Coalition, but there had to be a good reason. There just had to be.

Link's jaw tightened, but then he said, "You have five minutes." And he reached for the doorknob on the door next to the window.

Kidd wanted to stare. Five minutes? Five minutes was a ridiculously short time. What would he say? How could he begin?

But Link had no time to lose, and Kidd knew he was constrained by the imminent return of Darunia and Ashei.

He strode through the door.

At first, his brother didn't register his presence. Kidd was sure he knew someone had entered, but didn't seem interested in finding out whom.

Kidd took a second to assess him. He was tall. Very tall. Kidd knew he'd grow too, one day. His own brother was taller than Link. All things considered, now that Kidd observed him, Damon looked a lot like Link. The shape of his face, maybe, or the determination in his eyes. His hair was silvery blond, though, a tone that was a lot more like their mother's, Damon had told him when he had been very young. Kidd's own looks drew from their father. They shared the shape of their eyes, and the set of their chin. That was where any resemblance ended though.

He'd changed his last name. Fierce had never been their name. Now that he thought hard about it, Kidd was sure they'd had a homely name. It was hard to recall. Damon had only ever signed his letters 'Damon'. Kidd had last had heard it over ten years ago.

Woods. Kidd Woods. Damon Woods.

The only reason he'd discovered this Damon Fierce was his brother was because he'd seen him, briefly, while trying to catch a glimpse of a real prisoner of war. Morbid curiosity had finally ended his search.

And then, hours of pleading and begging, all for this moment.

Kidd realized he didn't know what to say.

"Damon?" It was as good a question as any.

Damon's eyes had always been icy blue. It was the kind of cold look that he reserved for enemies. It didn't melt, though, when he saw Kidd. He only frowned.

"Kidd. What are you doing here? How did they find you?"

"So, you know this boy?" Link said, from the door.

Kidd wanted to turn around and hit him. "You said I had five minutes," he growled.

"And you do," Link coolly responded. "But not alone."

Fair enough. Kidd knew he wasn't even supposed to be on this side of the window. He wasn't going to push Link to retract his offer. It was undreamed of, to even see Damon now.

"Is this to make me talk?" Damon growled. Link shrugged, but Kidd was glad that he said nothing.

"Damon, why are you with the Guardians? They're trying to hurt Windfall. Why did you join them?" Kidd felt the questions tumble out of his mouth before he could sort them out. "Why did you stop sending letters? The other boys didn't believe that you even existed anymore. Two years? Is that when you joined them? Two years ago? Why did you?"

Damon set his jaw. Kidd thought that didn't look too good. But Damon's steely gaze wasn't on him. He was looking up at Link.

"You're wretched, to use him like this," he finally rumbled. His voice was like distant thunder.

Kidd was confused, but Link's brows rose high. "Wretched? I didn't even know you were related until just now."

"He didn't know, Damon," Kidd said. "But now, you'll join us, right?" He tried desperately to keep the hope out of his voice. Some distant part of him told him it wouldn't be simple, ever. "Now that I've found you again?"

Damon shot him a look, and Kidd was certain he saw a flicker of doubt, or maybe regret. There was sadness, though, for sure. He opened his mouth to answer, then closed it again. Kidd knew Link's presence would make things difficult.

"You don't owe us anything," Link said, from behind him. "But your brother deserves a few answers, doesn't he?"

Something like dread crawled into Kidd's gut. He had been stupid. Link was using him for leverage. Damon was trapped. They'd make him think that he was at their mercy. For a moment, Link's words hurt. Why would anyone do this? They were just brothers― _I should have slipped in and let him out, without telling anyone why, or who he was. _They'd be out flying Flits and living alone.

"Go down all the way to the Dark Realm. See if I'm not there already."

Link rolled his eyes. "Come on, Captain Fierce. Your brother wants to know."

"Shut up, Link," Kidd exclaimed. "You said you weren't going to hurt him. Ashei said―"

"I'm not going to hurt him," Link said, ambiguously, but he wasn't looking at Kidd. He was looking at Damon, and they exchanged a hard, threatening stare.

Enough of this. He wasn't just a kid. He would have a say in this.

"You're not going to hurt me, Link," he said with certainty. He wasn't nearly as sure as he sounded, but he needed to be convinced, if only to disarm the situation.

Link said nothing, but he shot Kidd an annoyed look.

"I'll talk," Damon said, but he was still growling. "If you let him go."

"We can let him go, he's not our prisoner." Link leaned against the wall, casually.

"Damon," Kidd said, urgently, "why did you join the Guardians?"

Damon looked at him with an odd look. "For money."

There was an odd silence then. Link stood out of sight, but Kidd was sure he felt him radiating anger. Damon too was stubbornly unforthcoming.

"That's _it_? Money?"

Damon had the grace to look mildly ashamed, but it was brief and easily dismissed. "I had to get you out of the street. I was going to finish the war, and get you. Dragmire swore we'd seize the city without carnage."

"How could he afford to make that sort of vow?" Link asked, and Kidd was relieved to hear no aggression in that voice.

Damon sat back, looking a little defeated. "We'd topple everything, until Hyrule surrendered. I trusted."

Link sighed, but he spoke no judgement. Kidd was grateful for that.

Damon was back to looking stormy. "What else do you want to know?"

Kidd wanted to speak, but Link cut in. "Why aren't your armies being serious about their assault on Windfall? Where is the brunt of your forces?"

Now, Kidd saw Damon clamp up. The set of his jaw was tense. Kidd realised this was the real reason he was being held. It was true the attacks, even now, were half-hearted, drawn out, and cost the enemy little to nothing.

"I am not at liberty to discuss―"

"_Come on_," Link interrupted, in a tone Kidd had never heard him use before, "don't you want to _leave_? Help us out, here. We just want information."

Damon laughed humourlessly. "Where would I go if you release me? I can't go back. They'll know I talked."

"You could join us!" Kidd hastily exclaimed. He shot Link a pleading look. "Right?"

Link was quiet for a while. Neither he nor Damon wanted to negotiate. At length, Link begrudgingly said, "I could ask for a royal pardon on your behalf. But I don't know if the information you have is worth one."

"He's my brother!" Kidd exclaimed, frustrated.

"And a prisoner of war," Link curtly replied. "Be careful, Kidd. This is not your decision."

"I'll speak to Zelda," Kidd said. "She'll talk to me. She said she wanted to repay the favours―"

"You walked her dog and helped her with volunteer work," Link said, dismissively. Kidd felt the punch of that curtness in his gut. He felt Damon tense up, too. Now he understood how Damon had become so cold and blank. It was all he could do not to punch Link.

"I thought―"

"She means well, Kidd, but even she cannot release a prisoner of war without just cause. You want your brother to go free," Kidd heard the exhaustion and pleading in Link's voice, all of a sudden, "so tell him he needs to _help_ us. Or else, he won't die, but he won't go free either. I need to know why my pilots put themselves in danger's way for nothing."

Damon said nothing to that. Kidd turned to look at him, wondering how he could do anything to help. Damon was stubborn, and Kidd had no guarantee things would work out. It was scary, like staring into the dark and not knowing when it would end.

"What is going on here?"

Kidd knew that voice. He turned, and saw Darunia frowning. He filled the doorway, and his anger was quick. Behind him, scowling, stood Ashei.

"What is the boy doing here? Get him out of here! This isn't a zoo!"

"No, wait―"

Ashei grabbed Kidd's arm. He wanted to fight, but then, he saw Damon, his fury roaring in his ice blue eyes, and decided to go meekly. He didn't want Damon to struggle. He didn't want him to risk his release.

"Forester, explain yourself."

But Kidd didn't hear Link explaining himself. Ashei pulled him out of the room, and back down the hallway, and out into the front room, and outside. Then, she held him still and said, "You need to behave, yeah?"

She wasn't angry. It occurred to him suddenly. He wondered why. In those circled eyes, all he saw was fatigue.

"Ashei, can I speak with Princess Zelda?"

She almost rolled her eyes. "Why would you do that?"

"Because," Kidd said, tired too, tired of being treated like a boy, tired of being helpless, tired of being doubted, "I need a favour and she owes me one."

* * *

><p><strong>If you've already figured it out, ignore me, but for those who are still wondering: Kidd = Child Link (OoT). Damon = Fierce Deity Link (MM, also the character who may or may not have been my crush when I was, like, 12).<strong>

**THE PLOT THICKENS.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	37. 3-2 - The Judge

**I know you guys don't particularly care about WHY I'm late in posting, only that I am, but I swear I have a legitimate reason: I stayed until 20:00 at work last night, because the server response was so slow it sometimes took up to a full minute to approve each new segment and I had, like, 5000 to look over, and none of this makes sense if you don't know what I do, but I swear it was very uncool. And then I meant to post as soon as I got home, but after my shower, preparing today's lunch and calling the fiancé, I ultimately collapsed onto my bed and passed out.**

**So, you know, sorry 'bout that. I AM NOW POSTING ON MY EMPLOYER'S DIME. Everyone's okay with it.**

**Also, I know this is a short chapter and everything, but the next chapter absolutely makes up for it, being pivotal and all. Incidentally, by the time the next chapter is posted, I will have officially surpassed _Only in Hyrule_'s word count, which is a big deal to me. By the time the story is finished, I'll have overshot that word count by several thousand (total count is somewhere over 180,000 words).**

**So, you know, there's that.**

**Love,  
><strong>**CM**

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 2: THE JUDGE**

* * *

><p><em>31<em>_st__ of Quintember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Windmill Hill_

Zelda rubbed her eyes. The last day and a half had been exhausting to say the least. She felt drained in every way. She had imagined that the battle would be quickly over. She had thought that, by now, they'd have either prevailed or been defeated. It was frustrating to be told over and over that the enemy wasn't committing to a full-blown attack. It wasn't the good news they were telling the people. While they were retaliating with force for now, in the end, they would be weakened to the breaking point.

Rutela and Ashei and Darunia, along with so many other leaders, were busier than she was now.

At the beginning, she had refused to enter the bunker she had been assigned to, helping the Resistance in what small, safe ways she could. Waking up from her night with Link had infused her with a desperate need to _do_ something. Sitting around in the bunker would have forced her to imagine all the worse possible battle scenarios for him. It would have driven her mad.

But then, something terrible _had_ happened. She had heard from Darunia when Link's Flit dragged the enemy down. It had filled her with such helpless rage and terror that for a moment she feared she would forget that he hadn't made any promises.

Still, she had spent most of the following hours waiting outside the emergency room, next to Sheik and Colin and Malon, walking out occasionally to walk Wulf, if only to do something. They had stabilized him, blaming the collision for most of the physical trauma he'd suffered. It was a mess, but hearing he would pull through had made her want to sob with relief. By then, she'd been up 20 hours and was pushing the limits of her daily endurance.

In those moments of silence, sitting by Link's bed, Zelda had come to appreciate the poetry of being at his bedside the way he had been for her. She wondered how it would be to have this certainty of companionship all the time.

And his hand in hers was so warm even through the bandages. She wondered how it would feel to rely on him, and to be relied on.

Eventually, Sheik had convinced her to catch a few hours of sleep. Morning would soon come, and the battle was still going on. So she had forced herself to lie in her guest bed, eyes awake in the darkness, watching the night's shadows creep across the room then eventually turn into the dull gray of morning light.

But sleep hadn't come. A new thought had come to her in the night. The prisoner they'd captured thanks to Link could be persuaded to return to his superiors and feed them lies. Or better yet, organize a meeting with her. Maybe she could stop the war in Waker. Maybe Link wouldn't have to fight again.

Of course, when she'd presented her thoughts to Rutela, Tetra and Ashei, they had looked doubtful. By then, Zelda felt she understood them. Who was the sleepless waif of a princess to think she could sway Komali of Waker and his assigned Guardian troops, when Rutela herself had been unable to do so? Rutela had been gracious, but dismissive. Tetra, however, had glanced at Ashei, who had shrugged and said it wouldn't hurt to try.

So Zelda had let Ashei see to it, and she hurried off to help Malon and Groose with the railed cannons. Overhead, the battle was loud, but little else. There was little fire, and few shots exchanged. Every member of the Resistance wondered at that, but there was enough work to go 'round that they didn't ponder it extensively.

When Sheik had returned to tell them that Link was awake and sane, the relief had been like a crushing wave. Malon had shot her a smile that made her think she ought to be more discrete.

Rather than dignify the curiosity with a confirmation, it seemed wiser to bury herself in work. Link would see her in the Resistance headquarters when he was ready. If he wanted to see the prisoner first, that was fine.

Still, Zelda thought, it wasn't so strange for her to wish to see him again, and soon. They'd shared something, she was sure of it.

"Zelda," Shad said, snapping her out of her thoughts. She turned to look at him, standing awkwardly in the doorframe. He'd been busy too, in his own way, helping librarians and curators to put the precious books and art pieces safely away in case the battle became heated. Still, she suspected he looked in better shape than she did. He was still groomed like an aristocrat, his hair well combed, his collar pristine and sharply turned. For a moment she wondered why she had never fallen for Shad, despite all the nobles had done to shove them together. It filled her with sadness that his purpose at court had ultimately turned into disappointment for his lineage.

"Shad."

"Ashei came by." He shuffled awkwardly at skipping honorifics, and his voice wavered on Ashei's name. It was charming, but Zelda found herself acutely aware of how little he looked like Link. She forced herself to pay attention to what he was saying. "She says the urchin ―Kidd― wants to speak to you. I'll tell them you need rest." He added the last bit with a concerned and mildly disgruntled look at the circles under her eyes and the disgrace of her unkempt clothes.

Zelda smiled tiredly. "No, Shad, I can see them."

Shad hesitated. "Are you sure? Maybe you'd like a minute―"

"Shad." This time her stern look brokered no chance to argue.

"Very well," he sighed, and walked back out into the hallway.

Zelda wondered why Kidd wanted to see her. She had trouble sorting out what kind of boy he was. In a way, she felt a kinship to him. He was quiet, and reserved, and had trouble expressing how he felt. It was such a spitting image of her own childhood, despite all the things that separated them.

"Your highness," Ashei said as she stepped into the room, pushing Kidd in front of her. He had been hastily groomed, his hair combed unnaturally, his face scrubbed clean. The fact that she hadn't done the same for him was unfortunate. "The boy wants to talk to you."

"Sit down, all of you," she said, as graciously as she could. At least for now, she would stop thinking too hard, and focus on someone she could help for real.

Excited to see his familiar visitors, Wulf padded over, tongue lolling, and found a comfortable place at Kidd's feet, looking up at the boy patiently.

Both Shad and Ashei found seats, next to one another. Kidd stayed on his feet. Something about him was different. He wasn't avoiding her gaze. He wasn't dodging Ashei's mild glare. As he stood there, she saw he was taller than he made himself look, and prouder, and handsome in his way. And he looked like a young Link when she looked at him just so.

"Princess, I want you to free Damon Fierce. His real name is Damon Woods. He's my brother."

Shad had been sipping on tea, and nearly spat it right back out. Ashei's eyebrows rose high on her forehead, which meant that she hadn't expected this turn of events either.

Zelda couldn't help but be impressed. Kidd hadn't wavered this time. He hadn't mumbled. And he was asking for the moon.

"Kidd…" She started, but his eyes steeled and she trailed off.

"I know what that looks like. I know he hurt Link, and killed some pilots. He was doing his job. Link killed people too, during battles. Damon wanted money to get me out of the street. He'll help us if we give him a pardon."

"We don't know for sure," Ashei corrected him. "Yeah?"

"I'll make him help us." There was no shaking Kidd. "Spare him."

"What can he give us that will be worth the lives he's taken?" Shad asked, and not very kindly. He had resumed drinking his tea, but he looked displeased.

Kidd's anger flared, but Zelda saw him contain himself. It was admirable from a boy who had only just recently taken pleasure at mocking Shad every occasion he got. "He can't bring them back to life, but he can at least tell us why the enemy isn't attacking properly."

Ashei nodded begrudgingly when Shad and Zelda shot her an inquiring look. "Yeah, we have good reason to think he's a higher up in the chain of command. If there's something to know, captain Fierce knows it."

"And you think this will help in moving forward with this war?" Zelda asked.

"It certainly can't slow it even more," Ashei said, her frustration with recent events obvious.

"What's one prisoner freed, in the grand scheme?" Kidd insisted. "If he helps us, then he's a traitor to his cause, and he'll be an ally to us. Why wouldn't we help him?"

"Because it could be a ploy to spy on us and betray us in the long run."

"So send him away. I'll go with him. I'll make sure he doesn't spy on you."

Zelda sighed. It burned to think that the man who had nearly killed Link would go free, but then, it would press her conscience that Kidd's brother be condemned to a lifetime in prison, or worse.

And she had promised Kidd she would do him one favour.

"If he goes free, Kidd, it'll be in exchange for all the information he knows. Then, I expect you and your brother to head off somewhere far away until the end of the war. We can discuss peacetime pardons when peace is achieved. If we don't win," she added, to drive the point home, "you understand that will never happen."

"I'll make sure Damon understands that," Kidd said, his blue eyes as unsettlingly bright and steely as his older brother's.

Zelda shot Shad and Ashei a look. They seemed unsure, but they didn't openly protest. She stood. "Well. Let's go then. We have to draw up the papers."


	38. 3-3 - The Waker

**Hey folks, here's a pivotal chapter and everything. Now I have to get back to work before my boss actually notices I'm faffin' about.**

**It actually just occurred to me that the current generation of fanreaders might be more familiar with _Twilight Princess_ and _Skyward Sword_ than with _Ocarina of Time_ and _Majora's Mask_, which are respectively 16 and 14 years old. Those were by far my favourites, but maybe as I make reference to them, people are less and less familiar with them because they might legitimitaly not have owned a Nintendo 64 in their childhood (!).**

**I am very old.**

**Anyway, if you haven't played OoT and MM, get thee to an emulator and dive in.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. OH NO WAIT, actually if you have a 3DS, get the new _Ocarina of Time_. With the graphic upgrade, it's exactly the way my brain thought the game looked like with 1998 polygons: glorious.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 3: THE WAKER**

* * *

><p><em>1<em>_st__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall airspace<br>Somewhere over the ocean_

Nabooru wasn't sure about when she had crossed from Hyrule into Waker. She wasn't even sure whether this was the third or the fourth day of constant flight. Cole's aircraft had proven very resilient.

Refuelling it had been the hardest part. The first day she'd found fuel somewhere in the alpine ridges of the Death Mountains. The station there had warned her that her identification codes were a bit dated, and she'd lied about why she had been so long in enemy territory. The second fuel stop had been in Celestia, and she was somewhat disturbed at how little anyone questioned her story. Celestia wasn't affiliated in the war, but she nevertheless got a few suspicious looks from other pilots, and casual shrugs from the technicians. She hadn't lingered there. Of all the places she'd visited, the City in the Sky had been the most unsettling.

And now, she was somewhere over the ocean, the shore vanishing behind her. She knew she ought to stop. Indeed, if it hadn't been for the stimulants stashed away in the food supplies she carried, she'd have long fallen asleep and crashed. Still, every hour she wasted sleeping was an hour less to stop Ganondorf Dragmire's invasion.

She had no idea what the plan was beyond getting to Waker. The more she flew, the less she could think. It was good, in a way. If she didn't think, she didn't have to get scared.

On occasion, the ship would make a sound that threw her into more debilitating memories. A loud release of steam would evoke a gurgling stream erupting from the mouth of a volcano. She would see lava, instead of water, flow before her eyes, and she'd see the sky darken to ominous clouds, before shaking herself back to reality, jerking the Flit to the side. Blinking, she would struggle to maintain her grasp on her surroundings, until something else triggered a new memory.

She was getting good at ignoring most of them. Sometimes the way the flight controls felt in her hands evoked strong, inexplicable feelings, or the hum of the engine would remind her of voices and conversations she couldn't ―and wouldn't― make sense of.

But some of them were overpowering. A particularly vivid memory ―the trigger of which she barely noticed― of a great shadow burning through her, engulfing everything in sight, to the sound of drums, had nearly sent her careening out of the sky. She hadn't been upset, though. It helped: she was beginning to sort through the memories. That memory had probably been Impa's, the Sage of Shadow.

Sometimes the memories were beautiful. Sometimes, to overcome the boredom, she'd let them grip her for a few blissful seconds at a time, watching how the light played on the spines of books, how dust motes floated in the air, feeling at once a great warmth and a feeling of absolute and comforting solitude. Other times, she let herself laugh at memories of children running after cuckoos between the houses of Kakariko.

Her favourite memory, though, had threatened to seize her entirely, so beautiful it was. She had pulled herself out of it reluctantly, at greater effort than she'd have readily admitted. It hadn't been hers. It was the Sage of Time's memory. Nabooru found herself envying her.

Whoever the hero Link had been, he had captured the Sage of Time's whole being. It was both touching and enviable. Nabooru couldn't recall feeling that way for anyone, and feeling Zelda's memories fill her was like tasting a wine she hadn't earned. She felt like a thief, to rejoice and revel in memories that weren't hers.

It was just for a time, she told herself. Soon, she'd return the memories to their rightful owner, and they would fade from her in due time, the way Ruto's had.

It was odd, actually. In the place of the great Zora's Domain, she now saw only a barren landscape, in the middle of which a great temple shaped like a meditating woman rose from the sands under a scalding sun. No matter how hard she tried to remember the visions of water, all she saw was sand, and dunes, and more sand. And where she tried to recall the pride and gentleness of the Sage of Water, all she could remember was pride of a different sort, and the gruelling satisfaction of surviving yet another day.

She wondered why these new memories remained, without a name to go with them.

It was these long musings that made her unaware of the approach of Alliance airships. By the time she noticed them, they were already flanking her on both sides.

'_Unauthorized ship, identify.'_

Shoot and damn, how could she let herself doze off that way?

Better to break the silence than make them believe she was a threat. "I'm an unarmed civilian headed to Windfall."

'_Windfall airspace is closed. There are battles waging there. Detour to Dragon Roost, or head back where you came from.'_

"I'm a good pilot."

'_If you refuse to alter your route, we will open fire.'_

"I'm carrying a message for Tetra Pirates, of Windfall, private assistant to Queen Rutela. Please let me through."

'_Change course right now or we will shoot.'_

A crackling sound came over her radio, and a female voice suddenly spoke.

'_This is Tetra Pirates calling from Windfall. Escort this airship to her desired destination.'_

There was a long silence, when one of her interceptors begrudgingly conceded_, 'Acknowledged.'_

Nabooru's relief was almost too much to handle. "Thank you."

'_You better be as helpful as I was told you would be, or you'll be sorry you came.'_

"I already am," she groused, and she was sure she heard laughing on the air.

The rest of the trip went by faster than she'd have liked. She wasn't sure how to prepare herself, and when Windfall appeared under the clouds, she was filled with even more doubt. Under her, there were a lot of airships, all military grade, and they were zipping by in routine patrols and skirmishes.

'_Rapid descent if you want to avoid getting shot down by stray fire,'_ her escort said.

"Understood." The reply came with military automation, and that was comforting. She was good at aerial descents. She felt the air thicken with humidity as she came down, and the cannons of the airport were all trained on her, but none of it mattered. It would be good to get out of the ship.

She saw specks grow into people on the tarmac, and soon, one speck grew into a pretty woman standing in a low-rank uniform, waiting next to her assigned landing platform.

'_Wait until we give you permission to exit the ship.'_

Well, of course.

Strangely enough, when her ship touched ground, she stopped feeling nervous, and stopped feeling doubt. Suddenly, she felt better than she had when visiting the Admiral of the Guardian Coalition. Dragmire had filled her with genuine fear. This, by comparison, was nothing. Tetra was here to help her, without a doubt. All she needed to do was get close enough to Zelda, to tell her why she was there, to ask for one touch of her hand. That wouldn't be too difficult, would it?

The engines whirred to a stop. Suddenly she felt the void, the absence of sound, the absence of the Flit's vibration around her, and the silence stretched on for a long while, as she watched Alliance soldiers gather around the Flit, concerting each other. The pretty blonde in uniform was obviously the boss, but she was nodding at something a sergeant was saying. They were motioning to surround her airship, to stay back, to be wary of any odd behaviours.

A shadow fell on the tarmac. Nabooru leaned forward to look up, and felt her throat tighten. The massive flagship of the Alliance, whose name she couldn't see, but whose class she recognized, was slowly hovering over the island, casting its large shadow of protection. A dreadnought. The Alliance had really pulled all the guns for this battle. If what Seline and Ruto had said was true, this was bad news for Castleton.

'_On the mark, come out, unarmed, with your hands up over your head.'_

Snapping back to reality, she looked down. There were a dozen soldiers at a safe distance, surrounding her airship, weapons trained on her. It would have been flattering to be deemed so dangerous if she hadn't felt so very vulnerable.

She unlatched the door, and it slid with a sigh to the side, and she felt the thick heat of Waker wash over her, and saw the palm trees lining the air base waving in the ocean wind. Oddly, that didn't evoke anything. It was just pleasant. That, in itself, was a relief. This was no time to succumb to memories.

"Step forward, and get on the ground!"

She obeyed, all guns tracking her movements. It would be alright, she told herself, trying to control her breathing. She had nothing to hide, really, nothing to be afraid of. Surely it would be wrong for her to come this far, only to die now?

As she knelt on the hot pavement, her hands behind her head, she tried to meet Tetra Pirates' gaze. Strangely enough, the woman looked even more nervous than Nabooru felt.

"Nabooru Spirit. You're a defector of the Guardian Coalition, and a high ranking one, at that. Explain yourself."

Squinting in the sun, Nabooru was baffled. "It's a bit of a long story."

Tetra rolled her eyes and motioned to the soldiers at her side. "We have time, I'm sure."

"Actually, you don't," Nabooru disagreed. "I have urgent news on the movement of Guardian troops, for one, and for two, I need to speak to Princess Zelda."

"Why?" Tetra asked, crossing her arms. "Why do you need to speak with her?"

"As I said," Nabooru patiently repeated, "it's a long story."

"I have faithful sources who tell me you're worthy of trust, but I'd like to make sure for myself. Cuff her, and make sure to keep up."

Two grunts roughly pulled her to her feet, and her hands were brought behind her back and restrained. That would be a problem, if she had to touch Zelda. Still, better to get in the same room, at least. Maybe a shoulder bump would suffice. Tetra strode away, and Nabooru was escorted closely as she followed.

They didn't head up to Windmill Hill. That confused her. "Look, I'm sorry to push you this way, but the matter I need to discuss with Princess Zelda absolutely can't wait. It'll even speed things up if I speak to her first."

"Calm down, please," Tetra said. "I'm trusting my sources about you, but I won't uncuff you. Zelda isn't on the hill."

"Oh."

They walked down a few heavily guarded streets, before arriving at the city prison. Nabooru read the sign by the gate, and panicked.

"No, wait, you can't do this. Don't war prisoners have rights? I need to speak to her, this is crucial."

Tetra stopped, and turned. "I'm asking you to stay calm. If you can't control yourself, I'll have to change my mind."

"You're joking, right?" Nabooru said, angrily. "Princess Zelda isn't here. She wouldn't be in prison. You're making a huge mistake, taking me as a prisoner."

Tetra rolled her eyes, then motioned for the guards to keep moving. Nabooru struggled, and even managed to kick one of them in the shin. He cried out a curse as they shoved her through the front doors. She fell to the floor, unable to hold herself up. The tiled floor slapped her in the face, stray grains of sand biting her cheek..

"What is going on here?"

From her poor vantage point on the floor, Nabooru couldn't see who had spoken, but it hadn't been Tetra. The voice was feminine, though, and confused.

"A Guardian defector, come to give us insight on enemy troop movements," Tetra replied. Nabooru saw Tetra's feet turn to her, and her exasperated voice say, "Oh, skies, pick her up, _her hands are tied_. I swear..."

The guards picked her up again, a tad rougher than they strictly had to, and propped her on her knees. Now that she could survey the room, Nabooru saw that it was quite full of people.

In the midst of them, she recognized Princess Zelda, whose childish face had been on so many of her coins, growing up. The princess had grown up, but was still recognizably herself. Nabooru shot Tetra an angry look, and the young woman could only smirk in amusement.

Princess Zelda didn't look as distant and cool as she had on all her stately portraits, and she was far less ugly and sneering than Guardian propaganda had made her. She was dressed simply, in working civilian clothing, and she looked genuine. At that moment, Nabooru understood how the memories she carried of the Sage of Time made sense. Suddenly, they looked as strong and vibrant as Princess Zelda herself―

"_You are destined for greatness, my daughter. All the people of this land will love you."_

_It didn't make sense when Father spoke that way. She was just a child, and she liked to play music on Mother's ocarina. Impa always told her she was a good musician. She liked the lyre, too, but it didn't seem as special as the ocarina―_

―_and the Ocarina of Time flew from her hands, and landed in the moat, and she snuck one last look at the boy in green. He looked almost luminous, even in the rain, in the storm―_

―_though it raged for seven years. Seven years of gruelling training and painful hiding, of watching the earth cry under the raw cruelty of the Evil King. She had wept for every soul, and buried countless victims. Where was Link?_

_In the seven years, had he died? Had he lost the Ocarina forever? If he had known how to play the Song of Time―_

―_in the Temple of Time, and he stepped down from the light, an adult, confused. He wanted to rush from the Temple, maybe to find her? But she had a role to play―_

―_And so she played. The music rode high in the hot dry volcano, a thrumming beat that spoke of friendship―_

―_Maybe he remembered the friendship, and that was why he smiled to broadly when she revealed herself. He was so strong. Maybe there was hope afterall―_

"_He is dead. He is finally dead." She had never known relief like this. It felt numb. Link stared at her over the body of the Evil King, bloodied and tired, and his eyes echoed the numbness she felt. After all that strain, all that effort―_

―_she had to say goodbye. Link had to go. She played the notes that would return him to his time, and saw the plea before he could voice it. A part of him would go back, to alter the flow of time forever. But a part of him would always stay. She felt her heart swell to think it was what he wanted―_

―_and he wanted their child to live happily. She watched him bounce the little girl on his lap, making wordless noises as she cooed, she watched him grow older as she did, and laughed with him in the mornings, and watched him sit in the evening as their daughter danced with her suitors. He had always enjoyed the outdoors, and they rode often, until that one last ride where he had taken a nasty fall, and broken his hip. He had withered after that, but some things always brought a smile to his face. His daughter, his grandson, and her. He always had a smile for her, his blue eyes bright and loving. She embraced him as he died, and felt the sorrow fill her. The sorrow eventually got her too. Time itself would not alter their immutable fate. She wanted to be buried by him, under the roots of a tree they had planted together. He had always loved trees._

"Princess," Nabooru said, her voice cracking slightly, feeling a surge of sorrow that she would lose some of the more beautiful memories of love she had ever been gifted, and guilt that she had briefly considered not returning them at all. She bowed her head.

Zelda didn't voice any acknowledgement. Instead, she said, to Tetra, "Please find Darunia. I need him to sign the warrant for Damon Fierce's release."

It was so strange that Nabooru could be so overwhelmed with emotion, and her subject so calm and steady.

Zelda was motioning to a corner of the lobby, where a pale-haired man, and a teen, and a fair-haired captain all stood, some more stony-faced than others. When she saw him, Nabooru recognized the Guardian uniform, and knew Damon Fierce was also a defector.

"Why?" She asked him, but the blonde captain stepped in front of her ex-comrade, and glowered. His glower wasn't nearly as convincing as Ganondorf Dragmire's had been. Nabooru raised a brow and tried not to mock him.

"Link, no need to be hostile anymore. We've talked about this." Zelda had noticed the exchange, but didn't press for any apologies.

The captain, Link, didn't budge, but he relaxed a little.

"Now," Zelda said, turning to them and smiling gently, "What's all this about?"

Before Tetra could reply, Nabooru said, "I come with information from Queen Seline and Ruto Watters. Information that could change the tide of the war."

"That's a grand promise, yeah?" A raven-haired woman said, the deep circles under her eyes making her look more tired than she probably was.

"Now, Ashei, we'll take all the information the Guardians want to throw at us," Zelda diplomatically said. "We can sift through the misinformation later. Come then, what do you have to say?"

"This battle is a distraction," Nabooru hastily said. "Dragmire is massing his forces in the north, to strike directly at Castleton."

The room, which was already quiet, became still. All eyes turned away from Nabooru, to look at Damon Fierce, who was glaring at the floor.

"Fuck me," Ashei said, breaking the pause. "He was telling the truth."

Damon rolled his eyes.

"Not the whole truth," Link said. "He's still hiding something."

"We agreed it was good enough," Zelda chastised him. "He provided ample proof, which our own observations corroborated. Now kindly let it go. As for you," Zelda said, turning to Nabooru with kindness but carefully concealed thoughts, "while I appreciate your confirmation, this is something we have already learned. Is there anything more?"

"Much, much more, Princess, but it requires faith on your part."

"I don't trust her," Link the captain bluntly said.

Nabooru tried not to scowl at him. Maybe if you weren't so protective of your damn princess, you stupid, stupid―

_Hero._

Oh sands, skies, and seas. He was reborn _too_?

"Princess," she begged, bowing her head, "you see I am unarmed, and restrained. I have one thing to ask which all will urge you to refuse."

"You're being very dramatic," Zelda said, looking both amused and shaken. "What do you need?"

"Please reach over and touch my head," Nabooru said, and the prayer was almost whispered. "I will not cause you harm, but this cannot be explained in words. Please."

Tetra stepped in, blocking Zelda from view. "Enough with your cryptic nonsense. What are you planning?" She looked at the two guards holding her. "Keep her well restrained." Holding out a hand, Tetra brushed at Nabooru's forehead. Nothing happened. "Well. You're harmless, aren't you? Why do you want the princess to touch you?"

Nabooru ignored her, staring at the floor. She had no idea how to convince Zelda to trust her, but she knew how Zelda had once been, how kind and wise she had been, when she had been Sage of Time. This appeal to her kindness and trust would be right.

"Please, Tetra, step aside."

"Your highness," Ashei protested, even as Link stepped forward, frowning, and saying, "Zelda―"

"You said they would urge me to refuse," Zelda kindly told Nabooru. "But despite their better judgement and my common sense, I trust you for now. I hope you take my show of good faith as a sign of trust which will be to our mutual advantage. Help her up, gentlemen."

Nabooru was pulled to her feet, her legs shaky from being forced into kneeling. She bowed her head, heart pounding, and mentally braced herself. If this transfer was as mind-bendingly overwhelming as the one with Ruto had been, she would have trouble keeping steady.

"Thank you, Princess," she breathed, and watched as Zelda smiled, and leaned forward, and touched her forehead to hers.

The surge of energy was both expected and powerful, and though Nabooru knew it was coming, she had trouble keeping still. Suddenly, it seemed like the world was throbbing, moving at a snail's pace, and on the onlookers' faces, nothing had changed. Most still looked skeptical, or outright nervous. They stood in semi-darkness, the world pulsing painfully. Nabooru shut her eyes to stave off the dizziness, the smell of books, the sting of blades, the rush of voices slipping ever faster away from her, and she felt Zelda's confusion, her head steady and cool pulsing like the rest of the entire world, and Nabooru had trouble breathing, like even the air was going still, like even time had stopped, like her heart was doing the same. Every heartbeat seemed to take ages. Zelda's whole world passed through her, infinite and beautiful, horrifying and sad, and with it the unfathomable grandness of Time itself, the clarity of memory, the nostalgia, the sleepless nights reading words on a candlelit page. Every detail, her daughter's freckles, the blades of grass in Hyrule field blowing in the wind, the clouds overhead, and below her feet, the ebb and flow of time as it made and unmade massive stone walls―

But she anchored herself in the truth. I am Nabooru Spirit of the Sands, she repeated like a mantra. I am Spirit. This is not my memory, and it must go.

And all of Zelda's past being flowed, unfiltered, to pour itself into its new host.

At long last, after what felt like aeons, but must have been no more than a few seconds, Zelda took a deep breath, and it seemed to shatter the spell. Everything began to move at great speed, the world rushing by, until it steadied itself, and Nabooru nearly stumbled. It was Zelda who held her up. When Nabooru met her eyes, Zelda looked stunned.

"I see," she said, simply, and, when Nabooru regained her footing, she finally collapsed.

"Zelda!" Link, true to himself, rushed forward to hold her.

"What have you done?" Tetra asked, sounding both angry and exasperated.

"Put her in a cell," Ashei snapped to the guards.

"No," Zelda objected, shaking her head, as though to clear it, and pushing herself up again, away from Link's embrace, as though he were no more than furniture. "No. Release her. I have a lot of questions for her." The disquiet that followed seemed to irk the princess. She snapped, "Today would be nice."

As though pushed by a burst of energy, everyone in the room jumped to obedience with speed that seemed somewhat unnatural. Nabooru caught Zelda's eye, and Zelda smiled sheepishly.

"I'll need to exercise some restraint," she admitted, looking suddenly winded.

"What sort of restraint?" Link asked, still holding her steady. He looked confused and displeased that he was left out of the loop.

Zelda turned to look at him, and something in her expression changed. She backed away from him, and seemed unsure of how to act. Finally free of handcuffs, Nabooru stretched out her arms.

"Didn't you see what happened?" Zelda asked Link, searchingly.

"You just stood there, motionless," Tetra said, "and then you both nearly fainted."

Zelda shot Nabooru an inquiring look, but all Nabooru could do was shrug.

"That's very interesting," Zelda said, smiling, her smile oddly familiar to Nabooru, so sly and amused it was. "So I'm the only one who saw all that?"

"I think you're the only one who could," Nabooru said, at a loss for words. "I'm still a little hazy on the mechanics of this."

Damon Fierce was frowning. The boy standing by him too. Ashei's brows were furrowed, but she had seemingly recovered from her initial surprise and now seemed to anticipate something else. Tetra had left, but Nabooru had seen the tense set of her shoulders.

But none of the shock any of them registered measured up to the confusion and fear on the Hero's face. Link, rather. Nabooru made a note not to call him anything he wasn't. Maybe this was only coincidence.

… Hah.

"Zelda, are you feeling alright? You look... different." Link seemed taken aback by his own words, and hastened to apologize.

"I am different," Zelda interrupted him. "But that's good." She smiled at him warmly. "It's very good. Now please, let's take our new guest, and escort her to Darunia," at this she shot Nabooru a look, "because I think he needs to have a word with you as well, doesn't he?"

"Yes, your highness. Thank you."

"What about my brother?" The boy standing by Damon Fierce said. "The release papers?"

Zelda seemed to remember her initial duty. She turned to Damon Fierce and seemed to look at him with new eyes. Gently, she said, "We will see to your release, Mr. Fierce. Ashei, will you take the documents? You're free to go..." She trailed off, looking into Damon's face like she recognized him and couldn't decide from where. Brushing it off, she smiled warmly. "Mr. Fierce."

Damon bowed his head, one brow furrowed. He exchanged looks with his younger brother, but the confusion was still complete.

As Link led the way out, Zelda took Nabooru's arm. "So. Everything seems very odd, all of a sudden. I feel like I'm halfway between a second and an age. Does that make sense?"

If anyone noticed the odd gesture of familiarity between them, nobody thought it wise to comment. Nabooru said, "Well, _Time_."

Zelda nodded thoughtfully. "It feels very _right_, doesn't it?" She smiled, and something of her ancient self shone through. She was radiant, and it burned Nabooru to have once considered her an enemy.

"I wouldn't know," Nabooru said. "I still... Well. I still have trouble sorting through..."

"Sorting through what, exactly?" Link asked, sharply. He wasn't pleased; it didn't take a genius to see it. He was watching Zelda with open concern, and eyeing Nabooru with suspicion she couldn't fault him for. She was Guardian Coalition. It was a scary notion for any soldier of his ilk, to see his princess holding Nabooru's arm.

"Memories, Link," Zelda gently said, her tone enough to soothe his anger. For now. "It's a bit complicated." She broke off, and something in her face seemed to shift again as she watched Link, and her expression became veiled. She averted her eyes. "I will explain when we have time." Something in that sentence briefly amused her, but it hardly lasted.

Perhaps it was because Zelda's eyes were averted that she did not see the fleeting pain on Link's face, or the longing that seemed to make his blue eyes grow hard. He shot Nabooru a sharp look, one that carried all the repressed feeling he was reining in, and she was sure that if looks could poison, his own would be potent.

"Don't worry," Nabooru said. "You didn't like me at first the last time, either."

It was as she said it that Nabooru remembered. She saw Link as he had once been: a boy with such fierce courage, world-weary so young, fearless so quickly. He had engulfed himself into the Temple, all because she had asked him to. Nabooru was disgusted by her own actions with the hindsight of ages. Link. She remembered the respect she felt for him then, and hoped he saw it as they exchanged looks.

But Link didn't read minds. It was probably for the best, because she still saw so many things that weren't hers, and to an outsider, it would be a mess. He'd think she was hearing voices.

"Zelda," Tetra said, rejoining them as they returned to the airfield. A small Flit bearing the dreadnought's colours had landed, and from it strode a large, imposing Goron. Nabooru would have recognized Darunia without ever seeing him. He wore the Alliance uniform, which still gave Nabooru pause. Her training made her wary, which was ridiculous.

In her mind's eye, the usual recognition swamped her mind. She saw his childhood, his valiant efforts to stave off the starvation of his people in Goron City, the fateful encounter with the Hero, his Sworn Brother. She saw the fast aging as the Evil King's corruption began to eat at the Death Mountain range, spreading misery and monsters. She saw his wife, too, his solace, and their child, named for Darunia's Sworn Brother. She saw his wife's death, and the capture of all the Gorons. She saw him urging his son to hide in the city as it was sacked, vowing to him he'd return, and she saw him holding back the hungry Volvagia's rampage. She felt all his strength and despair, all his joys and frustrations. She saw his ripe old death, the satisfaction of returning once again to the stone. She felt the kinship die with the memory as it faded and reality came back into focus. She had barely faltered as she walked, this time, and hadn't fallen behind as Zelda's party approached the Warrior of Fire. That filled her with hope.

"Commander," Zelda warmly greeted Darunia.

Darunia bowed. His stare was quizzical, but he didn't voice the many questions he must have had. His eyes flew nervously up to his dreadnought, then settled on Link. He nodded curtly in acknowledgement, then his gaze lighted on Nabooru. Immediately, his mouth curled into a snarl.

"That's a Guardian or I'm a wizard's uncle."

"_Ex_-Guardian," Zelda calmly stated. "That's actually why we're here."

Darunia's hatred burned hot as Nabooru stepped forward. He outstretched a hand, palm out, stopping her.

"You know something of the stalemate in Gerudo Canyon?"

Nabooru felt the truth burn. "I was commander there until..." She paused, at a loss. How long had it been? It seemed lifetimes ago.

It was too late for her to prevent the Goron's sudden rage. His face was contorted with anger.

"A commander!" He roared. "You killed thousands of our men while you were there! Murderer!"

"You killed many more of mine," Nabooru coolly said, unable to stop herself. She remembered the sorrow, the rage, the vengeance she had once sought. "That's why there is a stalemate. We simply have more soldiers. You had better pilots."

Link sniffed with what could only be mild satisfaction. Nabooru ignored him. Of course he'd be the best. He was the Hero.

Maybe the roles were the same as they had always been, she reflected. Maybe Link was destined for prowess in what battle skills he needed, and all the rest of them could do was support him. It was annoying to think of. She liked to think she was relieved of that duty.

But if Link was the Hero again, as the Deku Tree had said, then that meant that his enemy was still―

Nabooru felt the dread fill her again. Ganondorf Dragmire was the Evil King, all over again. That did not bode well. If time was repeating itself, or perhaps reliving a cycle, they were facing a particularly strong and cunning foe this time.

She lifted her eyes to look into the imposing Goron's own. "You wish for vengeance. I understand that. So. Have it. Strike me."

Darunia looked both offended and disgusted. "I will not."

"Honour," Zelda said, exasperated. "Please, Darunia, I'd like you to make peace with Nabooru. She has risked a great deal to deliver important information to us."

The suspicion never left Darunia's eyes. "How can we know it isn't a ploy by the Guardian Coalition to send us on the wrong track, to pull our forces away from the real target?"

"Because they've already done that, apparently," Zelda said, and Nabooru finally saw the warm kindness crack to show worry, irritation, and anxiety, but only for a second. She was good. Better than Nabooru could expect. Zelda's self-control was almost perfect. "Besides which, Damon Fierce's testimony seems to support it, and we _know _he didn't come here willingly." Her eyes jumped for a split second to Link, but then lighted back on them.

"What do you mean?" Darunia snapped at Nabooru.

"This battle is a distraction. Ganondorf Dragmire is massing his armies north of Castleton. He's planning to strike soon, and he has a powerful weapon, of which I know neither the strength nor the effectiveness."

At this, she shot Tetra a look, then said, "Queen Rutela ought to hear about this. Ruto Watters and Queen Seline are being used in this war despite themselves. Ruto's son is held hostage, and Seline feels accountable to her people. It's her Chancellor we have to be careful about. He's not smart, but he's mean and eager to please the Admiral."

Tetra's expression changed, then she smiled. "I will make sure Queen Rutela understands this."

"Is there anything else?" Darunia brusquely asked. "How can you know nothing of the weapon Dragmire wants to use?"

"I don't know anything with certainty," Nabooru carefully said, "but I know a... well, a friend of mine, from the Guardian Coalition, was probably involved in carrying a part of it. He was headed to the Forsaken Fortress, an old stronghold of Dragmire's. It has ships marked with the fictional marker KO, for Koholint, the island of dreams?"

"We've heard of it," Darunia said, his eyes flicking to Link for a brief instant.

"It's not typically the sort of armada you'd use in open warfare. If he was sent there, it was for a mission of utter secrecy. Probably to do with Midna Black of Twilight, if I recall correctly."

Darunia stood silent, in judgement. Around her, the wind whipped at the princess' clothes, and Tetra's uniform, and Link seemed to soften.

It seemed to take ages, but Darunia outstretched his hand, this time for a handshake. He was still scowling, and it was a grudging motion, but Nabooru didn't miss her opportunity.

"There's something else," she said, smiling, reaching for his hand.

"What?"

But she only smiled, grasped his massive hand, and let the memories engulf them both, scalding and fierce.


	39. 3-4 - The Leader

**Sorry for the late evening release. It's WAY past my bedtime but I might have put it off even more if I had waited.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 4: THE LEADER**

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><p><em>1<em>_st__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Windmill Hill_

Evening was on them again. It seemed like the enemy attacks were getting even more half-hearted as time wore on. Zelda stared into the sky as it grew deep blue and the horizon darkened more and more. All these preparations, all this work, all this urgency, and the battle would never occur. It was a blessing, but it was also a deep wound. They had been outplayed masterfully. That did not bode well.

"We need to go home," Shad said, scratching Wulf's ears.

He broke the silence by voicing what they were all thinking. She didn't want to think of it that way. Home was very far away, and in very real danger. Though Darunia had sent out a warning by radio signal, she feared leaving Castleton to its own devices. The weakest of all in Hyrule had massed there, and Hyrule's army was scattered, locked in endless stalemates, or otherwise held back by essential war work. If the Twili were involved in the attack that would occur on Castleton ―a notion that broke Zelda's heart, because it felt so wrong on Midna's part― then the danger was all the greater.

Zelda noticed that Rutela was carefully quiet. To ease Rutela's concern, she nodded. "Yes. We must take all the mobile armies we have available and go north." It was not Rutela's place to usher them away, but it would not do to impose any longer on her hospitality.

Rutela did not look openly relieved, but her eyes told Zelda what she was too polite to express: gratitude. If Hyrule was the true target of the Guardian Coalition, it would be dangerous to harbour its ruler.

Darunia sat in the corner, his imposing size dwarfing the chair he sat on. He had barely recovered from his encounter with Nabooru, who herself sat, cloaked in darkness, thoughtful but quiet, on the other end of the room. Zelda wasn't sure how Darunia was taking it, but he periodically seemed to smile to himself, and the room would grow warm.

Forgiveness had come easy to him, apparently.

"We need a strategy," Shad said, breaking the silence that had once again settled on them. "Our armies here are few, and Commander Rocks' dreadnought is a fearsome battle ally, but it may not be enough."

"You will need allies," Rutela calmly said. "I will send along some of my own troops, if you think they can be of service."

"Any help," Zelda said, smiling, and trying not to look as tired as she felt, "would be appreciated."

She found herself looking for Link again, and remembered he wasn't there. He had gone out with Sheik and Malon and Colin, to check on his sister, and, perhaps, to hassle Damon Fierce until Kidd interfered. The dynamic between Fierce and Captain Forester had become somewhat of a running joke. Zelda suspected they both wanted Kidd to pick their side, and Kidd was wise enough to please neither.

Link. Zelda had deliberately avoided thinking about him too much until now. Like a secret door, her awakening had opened flood gates of a familiarity with him that was far more intense than her actual history with the captain warranted. She had once been able to control herself, but now... She couldn't shake the odd feelings that inevitably burst up when she saw him. It seemed like the way she had felt until then had been only a light breeze, and since Nabooru's interference, the light wind had become the gale of a hurricane. How vividly she loved him now...

It was upsetting and scary, and, oddly, it made her all the more resolute. She was serene now. That serenity was enough to see with clarity that she would not have a chance to speak her mind, let alone act on it, until the war was over.

Therefore her path was clear. The war had to end. Soon.

"We need to convince all those with the means to do so that Hyrule must be preserved. We are tired, the people are tired. The merest setback could destroy everyone's morale. From now on, we need to move with anger, with determination. We need to show how well we have this in hand." She looked at all of them in turn, and saw their weariness. Her words weren't getting through.

She felt the constant hum of time around her. It pulsed and throbbed perpetually in her mind. She wondered how useful that skill was. She was the only one who saw it, who could tamper with it, but every time she slowed it, or sped it up, she was the only one to perceive it. What good was the power of Time when she had no power to physically move armies?

Slowing down time would not make her troops move faster. She could only push it in bursts, and then for but a moment. It never failed to exhaust her. That wasn't right.

Time would have been a useful thing to stop when she had been in Link's arms the other night. The thought almost made her blush.

Time. Hah. Some gift that was. She shot a look at Nabooru, who still had not said a word. She trusted her, but that did not mean Nabooru had not been trained to betray the Hylian Alliance. She would have to keep her close. Besides, there were still Sages to awaken. Impa of the Shadow, and Rauru of the Light.

Zelda almost groaned. Rauru was a religious devout, and this would only renew his faith. She hoped his memories came with even more wisdom and patience, or she would be granted a sermon and an admonishing every day for the rest of her life.

It was unfair that she had the power of Time, and that she had no further wisdom on how to use it intelligently. Even when she wracked her memories, or what vague impressions had been given to her, the only notion she had of control was simply tied to willpower. That wasn't helpful at all.

She found herself yearning for Link again, and realized he probably didn't feel the bond between them nearly as strongly as she did now. That was frustrating too. She had never felt more confident about her purpose, or so longed for things to move forward faster.

The doors opened, and Tetra strode in, looking for all the world like she was growing tired and angry. She concealed it well, but Zelda felt peoples' emotions more acutely now, like she'd had a lifetime of observation to draw from. A glance at Nabooru indicated that the Sage of Spirit felt it too.

_Entera_. Unbidden, the Old Hylian word for 'sister' sprung to her mind with warm familiarity. As though she had also felt the call of the word, Nabooru glanced at her, her golden eyes curious.

She would not betray them. Zelda was almost entirely sure of it.

"Did you say something?" Nabooru asked, her thin brow furrowed.

Taken aback, Zelda shook her head. "No. I was just..."

"I was sure you..." Nabooru seemed taken by a vague memory, then sighed, closed her mouth, and smiled thinly, but kindly. "Nevermind, your highness. It must have been my imagination."

"Your majesties," Tetra said, breaking the silence that deafened Zelda, "It appears that Damon Fierce wishes an audience with you. Again."

"Didn't we tell him to get lost?" Shad asked, exasperated.

"There are no flights going out at this time," Rutela kindly reminded Shad. "Does he claim to have something of importance to tell us, Tetra?"

"So it would seem," Tetra said. "Captain Forester was the one to ask me for this audience."

"If Damon Fierce thinks he has something to contribute to our war effort, let him in," Zelda said. "With your leave, of course," she added, for Rutela's benefit.

Rutela had not said a word, but her gaze was sharp and interested as she stared back. Then, with a private smile, Rutela nodded. "Yes, naturally." She smiled warmly at Tetra, who relaxed, and left the room once more.

"Tetra grows irritated," Rutela mused. "This war is having an adverse effect on all of us, even the best of us."

"We must leave in the morning," Zelda said. "The sooner we hurry to Castleton, the better. Commander Rocks, please tell your men to prepare, and to get as good a night's sleep as they can."

Darunia stood to attention and nodded. The room seemed to grow warmer for it, and the logs in the fireplace cracked cheerfully. Darunia was the Sage of Fire, and it seemed to burn through every time he was filled with resolve.

As he left, Shad fidgeted. Zelda shot him a glance. He looked unhappy. Fleetingly, Zelda felt guilt that she had neglected her childhood friend so much in the past days. She made a note to speak to him once they were alone.

"Your majesties," Tetra said, having returned, "Damon Fierce, Captain Link Forester, and Sergeant Sheik Strike."

The three men stood in the doorway, in an uncomfortable truce. Zelda would have laughed if it had been at all appropriate. That Link Forester would be willing to stand at Damon Fierce's side, despite their mutual enmity and grudges, said a lot of both their characters.

"Good evening, your highnesses," Link said, bowing curtly. "We have new information."

Rutela was smiling as she asked, "And how did our newly released prisoner become convinced to share information he had been generously allowed to keep to himself?"

"Even the Guardians have a conscience," Damon Fierce said, his cold blue eyes landing on Nabooru Spirit with mild distaste. "And my brother has apparently chosen his allies better than I have."

That was more words out of Damon Fierce's mouth than anyone had come to expect.

"Well, in that case," Rutela said. "Please, take a seat."

"I'd rather stand," Damon Fierce said. Link, next to him, rolled his eyes.

"We're listening, Captain," Zelda said, using the title to show respect. She was having a hard time not meeting Link's gaze, as burning and blue as it was.

"There is another reason for the Guardian flotilla in Waker. We― that is, _they_ are combing the Tower of the Gods' ruins. The Isle is said to be hiding a weapon that is of special interest to the Admiral."

"What sort of weapon? That isle has not been used for military purposes in centuries." Rutela looked elegant even when she was confused. "The only thing of interest there is the Tower ruins, and that interest is purely historical."

"When I was put in charge of securing the isle, before being sent to distract Windfall, I was told that the weapon is a machine, humanoid in shape. A golem. Gohdan or something. I was told there are several of these machines in existence."

"Captain Fierce claims Ganondorf Dragmire already has a power source for his own machine," Link said, "and that it was carried to him by Midna Black herself and one of their own respected captains."

"Goht."

Zelda turned to Nabooru sharply when the word escaped from the Gerudo's lips. Nabooru was pale, and looked like she was about to be sick.

"I can't... I thought they didn't have the energy source to power them. They require a lot of energy. I―"

"We need it," Link said, his eyes full of determination.

"Goht is in Calatia. I didn't understand what it was capable of. I can't retrieve it before they use it to attack Castleton. I'm so sorry."

"I've lost track," Rutela said. "How many machines are there? Where are they? And their power sources?"

Damon Fierce looked at Nabooru, then averted his gaze and focused on Rutela herself. "Gohdan is in the Tower ruins. I am almost certain of it. Goht, if what my... comrade is saying is true, is in Calatia, ready to be used for war. The Admiral was promised two energy sources by Twilight: one of which left the Forsaken Fortress some time ago in Midna Black's hands, to reach Calatia as fast as possible, under the cover of secrecy. I have no further news on that front. The second power source is also from Twilight, but I have no information on how Zant Grim, Artificial Design, has vowed to supply it."

The silence that fell over the room was heavy. It was a lot of information to process, and even Zelda had trouble figuring out what it implied.

"I wish to organize a party, in order to retrieve Gohdan, Princess."

It was Link that had broken the silence. Zelda felt something drop into her gut.

"You'd be flying into enemy territory. What for? We can't be sure it's the right way to go." She tried to keep the plea out of her voice. She hated seeing him off to battle. She wanted him to stay by her side. For good, the way he was meant to be.

"If we're fighting these machines, we need to be on even ground."

"But we have no power supply for it even if we _do_ retrieve it."

"Anything will do, even human sacrifice," Nabooru quietly said, looking ill. The revelation made everyone in the room uneasy.

"We have to assume that Ganondorf Dragmire's strategy involves using both the machines. To deprive him of one is still a victory."

Zelda wanted to shake him. "I should go with you." Her ability to change the flow of time might save him.

The loud objections that suddenly erupted didn't hurt nearly as much as Link's simple shake of his head.

"You must reach Castleton. The people need their princess." His eyes were bright with determination, but she saw he was steeling himself. She couldn't decide what for.

"I don't know which of us walks to the greater danger," Zelda said, "but you are right. I will leave tomorrow, with the others. How large do you want your party to be?"

"I'll go," Damon Fierce said, without hesitation.

The most impressive part of it all was that Link didn't object. "I wish to take Colin Blade and Sergeant Strike. We may take some expert civilians with us."

Malon, then. Zelda tried not to be jealous. "Will that be enough?"

"The fewer, the better," Link said. He paused. "Do I have your blessing?"

It burned Zelda to consider it. She took in the sight of him, so handsome, so strong, barely recovered from his near-death crash, and saw him in the green of fields, as he had once been. She felt the love burn at her heart, the pain throbbing more acutely than Time itself.

"You have it," she faintly said.

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><p><strong>Seriously, though, have you noticed how many monsters have names that start with Goh-? Like, three. I'm gonna go ahead and assume that's not accidental, because it suits the purposes of my story.<strong>

**When I pitched this whole golem plot point to Lyxie I was all, "OMG AND THEN IMAGINE WHAT I COULD DO FOR THE STORY CLIMAX", and she was all, "Yeah, that should work". That's how Lyxie means 'stop getting excited and write that shit down'. Which reminds me I have until Friday to finish Chapter 1 of my original fiction for her or else she is authorized to berate me, especially since she already sent me hers this morning.**

**Except writing is so HARD, you guys.**

**Anyway. SPECULATE.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	40. 3-5 - The Fool

**I know, I know. My schedule keeping sucks. I'll publish the next chapter very soon to make up for it.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 5: THE FOOL**

* * *

><p><em>2<em>_nd__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Windfall<br>Windmill Hill_

Link didn't know what to make of himself anymore. He was a captain of the Hylian Alliance, a son of Waker, and a one-time lover of the imperial princess. And that made him nothing at all, really.

"It'll be good to fight the Guardians head on again, hm?" Sheik said, lugging his few possessions into the large red Flit Malon had consented them again. Malon herself was inspecting the engine, her arms black with oil to her elbows, a few smudges on her cheeks.

As Link surveyed the organized chaos of Windfall, he found himself worried that he didn't fit in quite well. Aryll and Nana had come to see them off, and Colin was packing his belongings still, and the weather was deceivingly perfect, but he felt displaced.

Zelda's lips were so far, and they were all he could think about.

It had so hurt him to see her one last time, last night. She had so much to think about, a kingdom to save, and he was off on a rash adventure. He only hoped he made it out alive to come to her aid.

"We're going to make it."

Damon Fierce, for all that he was an ass and a traitor, seemed to read him too well for comfort. He sat in the shade, looking like his usual self: annoyed, angry, and bored. Among it all, Link found himself sympathizing. Kidd was chatting with Aryll and Colin, as though the three had struck a quick friendship despite the war. Link shook himself to remember: this was important too. The friendship, the lives, the people of Hylia: they all mattered. That was why they were still fighting, and why he hadn't given up and settled in Windfall for good. It was why he still shined his boots and brushed his uniform, and why he had so foolishly volunteered to retrieve Gohdan.

If he were entirely honest with himself, the real reason he had so hastily thrown himself on the line was because of Zelda. It was more comforting to think he had noble notions, or honourable desires, but in the end, it mattered more that she think him courageous and self-sacrificing.

Like that would change anything to their inevitable parting.

A man could hope.

"A friend might warn you that you're walking into a trap," Shad Knowing said, surprising him out of his musings. Link saw Damon Fierce shoot the young aristocrat a dark look, but to his credit, the Guardian captain said nothing.

Link swerved to squint up at Shad from where he sat, in the open door of the Flit. He had been sorting through his belongings.

"A better friend would come with me," Link said.

Shad shook his head. "A tempting offer, but I have my own duties this time."

Damon Fierce snorted contemptuously, but still said nothing. Oddly enough, Shad didn't take the bait. He didn't even acknowledge the taunt or begin to stammer his excuses. Something else was worrying him, and that worried Link.

"You look preoccupied," he carefully said. He had never been particularly close to Shad, and certainly had no idea how much the scholar knew of his attachment to the imperial princess.

In the sunlight, Shad adjusted his round glasses, ill at ease. "This... Gohdan. You'll need a power source for it."

"Probably, yes. We'll think about it when we get to it." They'd already established that, the night before.

"No, I mean..." Shad was avoiding his eyes, and finally pursed his lips, then fell silent. "I mean, I hope you make it on time, even if it doesn't turn out. Castleton will need every man."

There was something in Shad's eye that made Link distinctly uneasy. "Is something the matter?"

Shad scowled, and pursed his lips again tightly, like he was debating with himself. "I just... Zelda is different―"

He could say that again. That Nabooru lady had done something to her that made Zelda strong, and not just in health, but now she was beyond his reach, and she always looked at him in that peculiar, familiar, unsettling way...

"―She has no need of book-readers like myself. We all have a role to play, Captain. I hope I am up to the task, that's all. I came here to..." He helplessly motioned with his hand to Link, and then to Damon, who was still scowling at him. With a sigh, he dropped his hand. "To see what courage looks like, I suppose."

"Well," Link awkwardly said. "The truth is, we're all sort of making it up as we go."

Shad nodded slowly, staring down at the perfectly polished shoes he wore. He smiled an ironic smile. "I figured," he flatly said. "Still, it couldn't hurt to say goodbye properly."

He outstretched his hand to offer a handshake. Link grabbed it gratefully, and shook firmly.

"It was great flying with you, Shad Knowing of Celestia."

"And a privilege to fly with you, Link Forester of Outset." For the first time, Shad seemed to form a shy, but genuine smile. "I sincerely hope our paths will cross again."

"As do I," Link agreed, smiling.

Shad turned to go, waving warmly to Kidd and Colin. He exchanged a few words with Malon, who hugged him goodbye. He was walking away now, and Link felt one final urge.

"Hey, Shad!" He called out.

Shad Knowing turned to look at him, frowning curiously.

"Next time we see each other, I'll teach you how to fly."

Shad smiled thinly at first, then his face cracked open into a broad, strained grin. "I'll hold you to that."

Link watched him go, feeling heavy. He had already hugged his Nana goodbye that morning, and he feared leaving Aryll again. Though Rutela had assured them all that she did not fear for Windfall's safety, Link knew only too well how swiftly a city could collapse.

Despite his fears, partings happened all too quickly. Aryll had wiped tears from her cheeks, trying to be strong. She had hugged Link first, but hugged Colin longer. Link pretended not to notice. Kidd was meant to stay behind, in Nana's care, if only to ensure Damon willfully protected Windfall. He and Aryll stood on the tarmac as Sheik shut the doors to the Flit. They were holding hands, like siblings. It made Link sad to see it, because he couldn't join them anymore. He had sworn to serve the Alliance.

Sheik and Malon were chatting, and Colin was checking his instruments at Link's side, and Damon was brooding in the back. Too quickly came the time for take-off. In all the bustle, Link hadn't thought to seek Zelda out. For all he knew, she was already onboard the dreadnought, but he liked to think that she still meant the words she had whispered to him on that night. It was a poor comfort, and a hard memory to recall now.

Perhaps it was foolish, but he did a quick flyover of the air port, and was sure he saw Zelda there, among Rutela and Ashei and Tetra and Darunia. And, for only a moment, he was sure she had looked up, and saw him.

Resolve was easy to come by when you had nothing else.

He'd find her in Castleton. He would find her, alive, and safe, and he'd sweep her into his arms and kiss her. He'd go to jail for a night, probably, for public insanity. It would be worth it. It was all worth it.

"And now, folks," Link said, into his headset, as they started over the ocean in one straight, swift flight, "We have an appointment with stupidity."


	41. 3-6 - The Insane

**As I said, here's the next chapter, quick as a bunny, to make up for my awful delay last week.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 6: THE INSANE**

* * *

><p><em>2<em>_nd__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Gerudo Canyon<br>Twili airship Mirror_

"This is not a good idea," one of her generals said. He looked rightly upset. Midna found she didn't care.

"If we run low on ammunition," she absently said, "you're the first I'm firing out of the cannons."

A nervous laugh erupted from her council. Midna knew they all thought she was crazy. It was probably because of her new attitude, and also the nightly wakes she kept by Dark's dry husk. There were deep circles under her eyes, and she was now subsisting on mostly stimulants she took from her army's emergency rations. It was better than sleeping though. When she slept, Dark was there, and he wasn't dead. The mornings were too hard to take. Better not to sleep.

She had to remember what reality was. Reality was harsh and cold. It was the nervous blue signatures of her generals when she Saw them. It was the cruel yellow of sunlight when she had her armies break the Guardian supply lines. It was the bitter purple of Shadow at night, when she held Dark's withered hand.

Warriors, all of them, but they didn't know loss like she did. No one had ever known this. How could any of them have moved on if they had?

"Your majesty," the general insisted. She had forgotten his name again. Her memory on the stims didn't work as well as it used to. "When we attack the Guardian armies, we make ourselves a target."

"I'm alright with that," Midna said. "Let them come."

"No, your majesty," the general stupidly soldiered on, "they outnumber us. Especially here." He pointed out the ship's command deck windows, where sunlight poured in. The Gerudo Canyon's walls rose high around them. "We'll soon arrive at the stalemate. Here, we'll be shot at from all directions. Let us go around."

"No," Midna said. "Let's not. Let the Hylian Alliance see who we're shooting at."

"They may take us down before we can―"

"Be quiet." She was tired. So tired. She felt almost as drained as Dark was, and that broke her heart a little. Every word out of her mouth was a mouthful to say. "We have to break the stalemate if Hylian armies are to break away from this hellhole and go to the aid of Castleton. We'll tip the balance."

There was no arguing with that, which was good, since Midna found herself plagued with a powerful headache and a firm desire to sleep. Less than a week since Dark's death, she reminded herself. Of course she was drained. Sometimes the urge to cry was overwhelming, and sometimes she felt as numb as... as...

Well, something numb.

A doorknob? No―

"In that case, if it's alright with your Majesty," someone said again, "we'd like to prepare the channels for peaceful integration into the Hylian Alliance's armies."

She waved vaguely. They hurried away from the table, and she found herself alone again. Somehow, she felt like that ought to bother her. She wanted to see Dark again, and rose to leave.

"Your Majesty."

The intrusion stopped her in her tracks. Midna tried not to be upset. It wasn't the engineer's fault he was intruding. She had asked him to tell her when Gohma was fit for battle.

"Yes. Um..." She motioned vaguely, feeling almost drunk with fatigue.

"Geant," the engineer reminded her. "Geant Shadowsand."

"Yes. Engineer Shadowsand. I'm listening."

The engineer bowed, his posture indicating he was inviting her to follow him. She tried not to sigh, and acquiesced, falling into step.

"We've done as you asked, your Majesty. It was not an easy task, since Gohma naturally has many articulations and possible motions, and we did not want the armor to interfere with any of them."

The Twilight ship was unusually shaped, but it had a large hangar hanging like a fat belly below the engines. Inside, a segment had been separated to allow engineers to build on Gohma. Midna had wanted the golem reinforced, and made into an Armogohma, as it were. If it had to withstand a similar golem, like the one Ganondorf Dragmire intended to use, the least Midna could do was armor herself.

"We need your permission to power it now, your Majesty. We can no longer proceed without actually testing the machine."

Midna nodded slowly, looking at the plaques of metal armor covering each segment of leg. It was a large machine, but she'd have little space for comfort inside the thick torso. It was a machine made for speed and swift killing. The delicate build of its legs allowed for swift manoeuvring, but was also vulnerable to brute force.

"We've, er, investigated the nature of all other golems of this make, as you asked."

This was important, she reminded herself. Admiral Dragmire would be using one of the other golems. There were only so many he could have gotten his hands on.

"We've only found references to four others besides Gohma," the engineer went on, leafing through his notes. Midna ignored how the rest of his team, as well as many of the Twili mechanics in the rest of the hangar, were staring openly at her. She must have looked like a mess. A part of her felt shame, but the larger part felt nothing. "A humanoid with large hands, called Gohdan. A mechanical bull by the name of Goht. A scythe bat, named Gomess, and a wolf referred to only as Goriya. We have very little else on their forms or strengths."

"That amount of information is likely still more than any other army currently possesses," Midna patiently said. "The Sheikah who left us their knowledge did not share with outsiders."

"Will it be enough to aid you on the battlefield?" Shadowsand asked. He wisely did not argue against her personal involvement. Many had been severely reprimanded already for volunteering. Midna wanted to do it. She had to.

"I can surmise some of it might," Midna mused. "At any rate, there is only one I'll be facing, since there are only two known Sols and we have one of them." She reached out to touch Armogohma's metallic leg. "Knowing the shape of other golems should help at least a little, when the time comes."

She was tired. Every thought felt sluggish. The quicker they got to the battlefield, the quicker she could kill Zant Grim. And the quicker she could rest, finally.

In the night, she often found herself wishing to cuddle by Dark's side, permanently. It wouldn't be a bad notion. She'd soon look withered and dead, but at least they would match. If any of her generals suspected anything about her ideas, they did not let on. Let someone else manage Twilight. She had obviously failed it so far.

"Your grace," Shadowsand started, "if you would like to try Armogohma, we can insert the Sol and begin at once."

Midna nodded. Time had an odd flow to it. Her nod had seemed to last forever, but the engineers had taken all of a few seconds to retrieve the Sol and prepare the golem for her. Or perhaps it was the fatigue that lied to her senses. A part of her knew this was wrong, and that she should rest, but sleep would destroy her for days. She slipped a new stimulant into her mouth, and hoped it would take effect soon.

Engineer Shadowsand was almost reverent when he helped her into her seat. He had firm hands, pale Twili skin, and the narrow aristocratic features that marked him as an attractive representative of her race. She found herself wishing Dark were alive in his place. It was a terrible thought, but she couldn't shake it.

After all, their Sheikah ancestors had not used Magic for petty schemes at first. They knew how to trade a life for a life. Surely...

It was a moral matter, and Midna had not often struggled this much for moral matters. That she was considering it at all, a small, increasingly quiet part of her screamed, was monstrous.

An equivalent exchange could certainly―

"Your grace?"

She had not released the engineer's hand. In fact, as she thought, her grip had tightened, her nails digging into his skin.

Horror gripped her, and she let go, as though singed. She struggled to keep her expression cool, but cold sweat began to run down her back and her whole body felt tense.

She was considering cold-blooded murder, and despite her personal disgust with the notion, it still seemed like an attractive idea, tormenting her.

She had the means to bring Dark back. She just didn't have the nerve. And nerves were easy to come by when despair and fatigue set in, when hopelessness was all that kept her warm in the night.

"Continue, Shadowsand." Geant Shadowsand. He was so full of vitality. He had all the living green of Forest Magic. He was strong, too, if the red aura was any indication. Maybe he would agree to help her, if she asked.

_No_. It was wrong, it was wrong, she was a terrible person to consider it. She would be lying to Shadowsand if she told him he'd come out unscathed. He'd never come out of it.

Shutting her eyes against the bright signature of life he was exhibiting, she tried to focus on the task at hand.

'_Contact!_'

The sudden announcement rang over the loudspeakers in the hangar, surprising her out of her horrified stupor. All heads turned to look at her.

Contact. They had made contact with a ship. But was it an Alliance or Guardian ship?

"Help me out, Geant. We will resume later."

"Your Grace."

Almost as an afterthought, she said, "You may use the Sol for testing. Make sure Gohma is ready for battle as soon as you can."

Then, feeling energized as she had not in weeks, she hurried from the hangar. As Twili soldiers hurried to battlestations, Midna pushed forward to the command deck. Maybe this was it. Maybe all would be decided for her now.

"Guardian Coalition ships, your majesty," one of her generals briefed as she came to witness the scene for herself. "Engaged in artillery fire."

"They're hammering the Hylian Alliance forces on the other side of the ravine," another added.

Midna strode forward to look at the maps. Gerudo Canyon was a massive landmark, made all the more impressive by its complex geology. It linked the Twili Desert in Twilight to the Gerudo Desert in Hyrule, and even delineated the Samasa Desert to the south. It was deep, and it was ancient. Its red walls were all the more impressive in their ability to dwarf whole dreadnoughts. Some segments of the canyon were narrow and treacherous, and some still gave way to natural rivers that cut through the land, heedless of the massive stone walls.

This was the case with the ravine where enemy troops had found a stalemate. A deadly coursing river had cut the canyon in half. There had been structures to bridge the gap before the war, but the Hylian Alliance had destroyed them on their retreat to the other side. They now hunkered on the eastern side of the ravine, covered from all sides but west and up, and there, they had placed their gun batteries, cannons ready to fire.

As Midna examined the cliff walls on either side, it seemed obvious that a fierce trench battle had been going on for a while, where mortar fire had broken and peppered the rock.

On her side of the ravine, however, sat the Guardian forces. They were in a poor state, as worn as their enemy ahead. The ships were evidently battered, and somehow, they were less organized in their positions. Perhaps that was a credit to the Hylian general, to be comparably better organized.

"We have incoming transmissions from the Guardian airships, your majesty. What shall we tell them?"

Clearly, her own generals had misgivings about opening fire on an enemy whose back was turned, and who evidently thought she was there to bring relief. It was laudable, and she took her time before formulating her reply.

"Tell them," here she was directly addressing the communications ensign, who looked paler than usual, "that we are here to get through. Any refusal to cooperate will be met with brute force. They have one hour. Open hostility will, of course, be considered a sign of refusal."

She pursed her lips, and looked at one of her discomfited generals. Perhaps he had entertained the fanciful notion that she had been joking, until now.

"What corps are the troops of the Guardian forces here from?"

"Holodrum, mostly. Some are from Labrynna, and some from Calatia."

"Do we know the commander in charge?"

There was an awkward pause.

"Well?"

"Onox Gorgon, your Grace."

Midna couldn't help but express surprise. Despite herself, her lips stretched into a thin smile. "Onox Gorgon himself, here to oversee a boring stalemate?" How the mighty have fallen.

It raised a new question. Why would Ganondorf Dragmire, who admittedly had many allies to count, put one of his strongest men in charge of a somewhat dull stalemate? Surely there were other tasks better suited to a man of Gorgon's temperament, bloodier conflicts, crueller battles. This one was a simple battle of attrition, suitable for any newcomer. The landscape was unforgiving, but extremely defensible from either side.

The picture was perhaps different. Perhaps Ganondorf Dragmire wanted his trusted allies closer to the battle he was about to wage. Just in case.

Or perhaps he was running out of allies to trust.

Midna wanted to smirk. She was certainly guilty of causing Dragmire some concern.

"They want to speak to the Twili in charge." This was the communication ensign, who had relayed the message with barely a tremor in his voice.

Midna nodded. "I'll answer any questions they may have."

The ensign nodded and opened the channel to the public speakers of the command deck.

'_... they dare to demand― Who is this?'_

Even if she hadn't known beforehand who the commander in charge was, Midna would have guessed from the brutal tone alone.

"Onox! _Friend_." She worked in just enough contempt and venom into the word to bely its intent. She tapped one of the communications officers on the shoulder and motioned to the Hylian Alliance vessels on the map, then tapped her ear, and nodded.

He grasped her meaning quickly, and quietly set about to opening the conversation to nearby channels, including the ships across the ravine, who were nervously standing by to decide whether the Twilight fleet was a new threat.

'_Midna Black. I heard you were dead,' _Onox said, his voice carrying to anyone who bothered to tune in._  
><em>

Perhaps I am dead...

"A gross exaggeration, as you can see. I'm coming through." She ignored how many eyes were fixed on her, and tried to keep cool.

'_I was assigned to this position by the Admiral himself.'_

"I know, Onox." She worked in some pity, if only to humour him.

'_We will shoot you down if you get any closer.'_

"That would be regrettable. I have a very important appointment to keep, you see." With death, and the shadows. She noticed the young comms ensign was smiling. It made her feel strange to see it. If she thought about it, perhaps she was being comical.

'_We already have our weapons trained on you. This is my final warning.'_

"Onox," she tutted. "What did we say about open hostility?"

'_Retreat at once. We are done loading the guns.'_

The generals looked more and more nervous by the second, but Midna forced herself to remain calm.

"So. Who is the commander on the other side? The Hylian side?"

'_Impa Shades. Frigid war monster. I'm giving the signal to fire.'_ There was no doubt about the truth of his statement. It rang terrifyingly true, and the tension on the deck was palpable.

"But how can you be ready to destroy my whole fleet if you're also keeping her in check?"

Some seconds can last an eternity. In the first second of silence, Onox Gorgon maintained an open channel, and she heard him preparing to laugh her concern off. After all, without a keen sense of observation, which was surely dulled by a month of stalemate, Impa Shades would barely have time to prepare her own artillery to strike while Gorgon's forces were effectively turned away.

Furthermore, considering the type of array Onox Gorgon was working with, it would take a very keen eye indeed to know that the array of cannons inside the Guardian dreadnought were actually pulled away and to the far side, just this once.

This was why the next second was so deliciously precious to Midna, because in that second, she heard the silence of his doubt. Suddenly, she knew what questions flew through his mind. Was Midna Black and her Twili army prepared? Had they loaded and were they readying their shot already? Was this a bluff? Why had Midna asked about the Hylian commander? Did she truly not know who the commander was? If so, then maybe she wasn't really going to ally with them, since she had no contact. Maybe she just wanted to come through to help the Guardians. Maybe she was just joking.

In the third second, however, she knew the seed of doubt had flourished into a tiny shoot of panic. Just barely a tendril, surely, just enough to squeeze the heart and sharpen the senses. She knew Onox was measuring for himself now, at break-neck speed. If Midna was truly a friend, she'd have said so. If she was an enemy, and if Impa Shades had heard the message, and acted fast enough―

Onox Gorgon's dreadnought took a massive hit to the flank, Hyrulian side. It rocked under the fire and the explosion, and Midna overheard the panic on the communications line, before it was cut.

"Fire." If she snapped it with any ice in her tone, none of her subordinates complained. Her whole body felt tense, on edge, crackling, like a sky before a storm.

The Twili ships were ready. She had wanted them ready all the time, just in case. Her own airship took some fire from the Guardian army, but not as much as she had expected. She suddenly suspected Onox had pulled a partial bluff, and that perhaps he had not been as well-supplied as his arrogance suggested.

Beset from both sides, the Guardian troops fared as well as half-starved, dehydrated soldiers could be expected to.

Before long, a voice that was not Onox Gorgon's reestablished contact, and shouted something that made both the Hyrulians and the Twili breathe a sigh of long-held relief.

'_Mercy!'_

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><p><strong>Not gonna lie: writing Midna's insanity is way more fun than it should be. Let me know what you think.<strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	42. 3-7 - The Lonely

**I know, I know. My schedule sucks. On an unrelated note, maybe someone could explain to me why sleeping feels so good especially when the night is too short to enjoy it? Someone's got to ask the big questions.**

**Also, yes, this chapter is short, but I think I'll post the next one this Wednesday. Probably. Hopefully.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 7: THE LONELY**

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><p><em>3<em>_rd__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Hyrule Field<br>Over the southern fields_

"Zelda."

She looked up. Trepidation made focusing on anything difficult, but she could at least pretend she wasn't distracted, that she was only lost in strategy. Information was too scarce to get an accurate and updated picture of her country's siege. It killed her. She wanted to send out messengers to gather information, boosted with time she'd grant them. Doing so was exhausting, though. Even ten feet away, she was winded from giving them time. And she was sure her skin was aging faster for it. Surely the other Sages of Time had known what to do. This was all wrong, and she felt as weak as a newborn. There had to be some other way. There had to be some way that was strong and long-lasting, that didn't drain her of life, that gave her predecessors a true fighting edge rather than a neat party trick.

Shad looked at her, his eyes lined with dark circles, concern etched all over his face. Zelda felt a stab of guilt. She was worrying him, and she didn't have the words to explain everything to him. He was a scholar, and a stable man in general. He'd be able to take it all in stride. But the time to confess had come and gone, and now she felt the rift between them growing.

She swallowed thickly, and forced herself to smile. "Yes," she acknowledged. "Shad. Is there any news?"

Shad sighed, straightened, and dropped his gaze to his hands. "No, nothing substantial, I'm afraid. Nothing that would change the game."

Zelda had dreaded the answer in her gut, but she smiled all the same. "Well, then. Nothing more to worry about." Nothing new, at least.

She looked down at the map, seeing the scatter of her military and supplies like noise on a screen. Hyrule's old and time-worn frontiers were eaten, corroded from all sides. Only Waker, to the south, and Termina, to the east, really still stood, and they too were half-conquered. Otherwise, the imperial armada was staunchly sitting on new, eroded frontiers, but they appeared red and gold on the map, the colours of open combat or defensive positions respectively. Few ships and land armies were green, and those that were marked as mobile currently headed to Castleton or massed south of the city, pooling resources. White markers noted the imposing army massing in Calatia, just north of Hyrule. They made the green ships look negligible. It made Zelda heartsick to see it.

Shad too was looking at the map. He was frowning, but he had the sense to say nothing.

Then, to her surprise, he said, "The map is missing something."

She glanced up, blinking, then looked back down at the map, eyes flying over luminous nodes, markers, frontiers. "N―no," she said. "I think... It looks complete. The armies, the ships. The Gerudo stalemate... Where? What did we miss?"

Shad looked like he had swallowed something sour. He tapped the south-east of Hyrule with a long finger. "Celestia, the Sky City."

Ashei snorted. Zelda heard her on her right, but did not comment. Rutela had recommended that she come for assistance. For now, she had not spoken, but Zelda trusted she would, as needed.

"Shad..." How could she put it simply? "Your father has not pledged his support to us."

"For now. Would you welcome the Sky City's arsenal if it joined you?"

Even Ashei looked surprised at this. Zelda fought to avoid sputtering. "Of course. But how will you communicate our need? He was never receptive to invitations into the fold before."

"That's the thing," Shad said. He looked different, but Zelda couldn't pinpoint how. He was weary, no doubt, and his eyes had the deep set of painful resolve, but she couldn't decide why. "I'd have to talk to him." His eyes darted up, and Zelda saw vulnerability behind his glasses. She had not expected that. "I need your permission to travel there."

Ashei cursed. Zelda shot her a look. She had never seen Ashei look so upset, and it stirred something uneasy in her own gut. She turned back to Shad, who had not moved, but who stood in the dim light of the map, hands on the edge of the table to keep them from shaking. She felt the sense of betrayal surge inside her as it had in Ashei. It took everything to keep from calling him a coward.

Shad was leaving. He was jumping ship. The accusation was in Ashei's eyes, and the suspicion of that truth filled Zelda's heart.

Tightly, she managed, "What makes you think you'll succeed?"

"I have to try, Zelda." He motioned to the map in one vague hand wave. "Look at these numbers. You need every edge."

"Thaddeus will never join the losing side," Ashei spat. She did not refrain from saying what Zelda felt. "You're just running off to the only safe haven you have, yeah?"

Shad looked genuinely shocked at the outburst. Some officers had turned from their operations to look in their direction. He was visibly trembling now. He looked to Zelda for support.

She was speechless too, and did not come to his rescue. It was almost too painful to consider. She feared words would cause more havoc.

As it dawned on him that his own childhood friend had no aid to offer, Shad's expression closed up. He stood taller, and struggled to control his shaking. "Cowardice and desertion are war crimes, as you know well. If you think I deserve it, shoot me and be done with it."

He didn't offer any defense, and perhaps it was enough to stay Ashei's wrath. Instead, before Zelda could say anything to apologize, Ashei spat, "Coward, yes, but living with it will be a more fitting punishment." In complete disregard for their mutual stations, Ashei Snow turned to Zelda and said, "Let him go, yeah? Who needs him, anyway?"

"You let Link Forester and his friends run off." The cold accusation in Shad's voice hurt almost as much as Zelda's own feelings of helplessness and guilt. "They went off on a reckless errand. You know I'm right. How dare you―" He turned to Ashei and met her dull gaze with true indignation. "How dare you impugn my honour and devotion to my own country, anyway? I'm trying to help."

"That," Ashei started, "remains to be seen."

"Enough, both of you," Zelda said, finally untangling the words from inside her throat. "If you think there is a chance that you could call the aid of Celestia, Shad," she said, struggling to stave off a growing sense of betrayal, "go with my blessing. Be safe."

"Don't say 'be safe' like it's goodbye," Shad said, angrily. "I will get you the help you need."

"I sincerely hope you do," Zelda replied, feeling genuine sadness fill her. Under her breath, for their ears alone, she added, "Or Hyrule is lost."

The admission had the effect of shocking both Ashei and Shad into silence. Then, with a click of his heels, Shad said, "I won't let you down."

Then Zelda watched him walk out, perhaps for the last time, and felt entirely helpless to stop it.


	43. 3-8 - The Bell-Ringers

**Haha! I updated! Bet you didn't see that shit coming.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 8: THE BELL-RINGERS**

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><p><em>3<em>_rd__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Central Waker<br>Near the Tower of the Gods_

The Guardian armada was moving west, away from Windfall. Something had stirred them into retreating, and Link was trying to decide whether that was a good thing or not. The ocean crawled with ships, some covered in aircrafts. Importantly enough, not a single ship fired on their civilian aircraft.

"Something has them spooked or else their objective has changed."

Sheik's observation was probably accurate. Windfall was no longer under attack, but that did not mean the waters of Waker were safer for it.

"Who is in charge of the Guardian faction in Waker?" Malon asked Damon.

"In theory, Prince Komali Wings of Waker." In practice, Link surmised, it must have been Damon's immediate superiors. Now that he had recovered his brother, Damon Fierce was a lot more communicative than usual. Of course, that may have had to do with Malon and her bright smiles. It drove Sheik completely insane. "Ganondorf Dragmire promised him the rule of Waker."

"All of Waker?" That, at least, brought Colin out of his usual shy silence. "I thought Waker was a dual monarchy."

"It is," Sheik said. "The Zoras and the Rito are both royal families, and they govern different aspects of the country. Rutela and her Zoras have control of Waker Seas, the fisheries and the underwater resources, by tradition. The Rito typically rule Waker Sky, so the skies and the few landmasses. There has never been conflict over this before."

"Until Dragmire convinced the prince that it was all wrong." Damon did not seem to mind spilling out the various bits of Guardian knowledge he'd accumulated. Perhaps it was his way of atoning. "Apparently, Waker's government was too far from the norm to be _respectable_. Prince Komali isn't a bad Rito, but he is young, and proud, and that pride clouded his judgement."

"Could he be convinced to change his mind?" Link asked, smiling.

"I'm not entirely sure that it hasn't already happened," Damon said, looking out of the window at the retreating ships below.

"Doubtful," Sheik said, having concluded the same as Link. "If anything, I doubt Komali Wings has anything to do with Guardian troop movements in Waker at all. I think after his initial acquiescence, he was put in a quiet room to serve for public statements and nothing more."

As Sheik turned to shoot Damon an inquisitive look, to affirm or deny his hypothesis, Damon smirked. It was all the confirmation Sheik needed.

"You have to start being more upfront," Malon told Damon. "We need to know who is in charge now."

"Hard to say." Damon was as stone-faced as Link had ever seen him. "Agahnim Veils was summoned to Hyrule to meet up with Dragmire. I was left in charge of his command. There was no retreat planned under my watch. We had to buy time for our archaeologists to find that golem in the Tower of the Gods, then crush Windfall and seize it until Dragmire gave us further orders."

The armada was not following orders, then. Or, at least, they were following different orders, from a different source.

"Could subversion be possible?"

The question surprised them. Colin's expression was direct, open, and the silence that followed his question illustrated the crew's contemplation.

"Perhaps," Damon carefully said, after a moment. He looked down at the ships again. "I was in charge of the armada until my capture. I can't guess who took over. Most of the troops were Waker folk. The attack on Windfall did cause some resentment among them. When I left, someone may have decided to turn things around."

"We're missing the most obvious possiblity: that Dragmire has changed his mind," Sheik said.

"Unlikely," Damon shook his head.

Link had to agree. "Yeah, I don't think Admiral Ganondorf Dragmire is the kind of person to back down from an easy win." He looked over his shoulder at Sheik, who was staring daggers. "What? It's true. If the Guardian army had wanted Windfall, they'd have captured it without trouble. We'd have put up a fight, but not nearly enough to stop them."

"At the very least, their retreat now has spared the most lives. Maybe they'll sit quietly until the war is over, and prevent further bloodshed," Malon said, hopefully.

"It was time that Dragmire wanted," Damon insisted. "He wanted the golem from the Tower of the Gods. It was more important than Windfall. I recall a Rito general arguing against it, and Dragmire had him demoted and put in stocks."

Malon's eyebrows rose to her hairline. "Stocks? What is this, the First age?"

"Public humiliation works among Guardian troops," Damon shrugged. "After him, no one dared contradict or oppose Dragmire in public."

"So. If he doesn't want time anymore, that can only mean that he's either given up on the golem, or..." Link trailed off, eyes on the horizon, where the Tower of the Gods, a long, needle-like structure several hundred years-old, emerged from the sea.

"Or he found it," Sheik said.

When they turned to Damon for confirmation, the pale-haired man shrugged, and said nothing.

"Where you close to finding it?" Link asked insistently, as Malon prodded Damon with a nudge and a smile.

Damon looked uncomfortable, which Link speculated was a rare thing.. "We had a team of archaeologists on site, but they kept hitting obstacles. The golem was presumed to be at the top of the tower, since the underwater spelunking of the flooded basements revealed nothing of note, but even after sending a team to the top of the tower by air, they couldn't find anything except an old corroded bell and a few markings. We saw no openings there, which meant we had to work our way up the old-fashioned way. It was… a challenge."

If the grim set of his jaw was any indication, Damon Fierce had been beset by more than just minor inconveniences.

"How so?"

"The Tower is old, but you wouldn't know it from the defence mechanisms in place. I wasn't patient with the archaeologists." He seemed about to say more, then stopped himself. At length, when no one questioned him further, he said, "I am not patient."

"Ominous," Sheik flatly said, the tone of his sarcasm earning him a sharp look on Malon's part.

"Go on," Colin said, to Damon.

"I… let the researchers go. They weren't moving fast enough. I had my men set up charges."

"You wanted to blow the tower up?" Link exclaimed. "What's wrong with you, man?"

"I left an engineer in charge when I proceeded to Windfall." Damon scowled. "He clearly did not follow through." Damon motioned to the Tower of the Gods, which still stood in defiance of time.

The area around the tower was deserted, but a survey of the waters and few barren rocks that served as foundations to the vast circle of pillars around the tower revealed signs of recent living presence. Scraps of tents and crates scattered in the waters and strewn on the rocks told the story of a camp hastily removed. As Link watched, the tower itself seemed to gleam defiantly in the sunlight, impervious to the obvious effects of time. Something niggled at his mind, too quick and fleeting to be grasped, like the silver shimmering fish he'd try to catch, fruitlessly, in the shallows of Outset, in the golden days of his childhood.

But there was no Outset anymore. Link tried not to walk the path of wondering whether Damon Fierce was directly responsible for that. Soldiers followed orders, and in wartime, bad things happened. Link had no doubt visited some of those bad things on Fierce's own comrades. Zelda's pardon was the sign that they all had to move on.

Still, it burned to think of his home levelled and the trees broken, the white sand trodden with blood.

It was easier to pretend the island was still whole, at least while he was dealing with a pardoned soldier of the enemy.

"I wonder what scared them away," Sheik mused. "And if it's still there."

Sheik had a way of asking the right questions.

"Were there any signs of trouble when you left to attack Windfall?" Link asked.

"None," Damon said. Link hoped he was telling the truth.

"There's a nice flat area there," Colin pointed out, indicating an abandoned portable landing pad. It was a little dented down the middle, but the structure and supports looked otherwise sturdy and reliable.

"Why would they abandon a perfectly serviceable landing pad?" Malon asked as Link made the Flit turn in a smooth curve. "It could easily be fixed, with the right parts."

"Have Guardians been known to waste resources?" Sheik asked Damon, but the dark glare the ex-soldier shot him ensured the question would remain rhetorical. Sheik smiled.

"Landing gears secured," Colin said. "You might want to account for wind shear."

"I'm not using the landing pad," Link said, pushing up. His declaration was met with confusion, but neither Sheik nor Colin objected. Link was still captain of the operation.

Malon, however, had no qualms about asking questions.

"Where are you going?" She asked as the large white tower grew and fell away, Link's push upward restoring their previous elevation. As she watched, they crested the top of the tower and found the gleaming pillar overgrown with weeds, the white stones broken, the massive bell corroded full of holes. The tower seemed to defy Time from afar, but this close, it left no doubt about its age.

"I'm going to land here, on the walkway."

Colin's eyebrows shot up. "That's a narrow landing. There's barely enough space."

"I can make it," Link said, and deftly steadied the aircraft. The hovercrafts whined a little as he countered the turbulence. "Can you keep an eye on my right hand clearance?"

Malon huffed. "You're eyeballing my Flit's landing." Her tone said a lot of what she thought: he was reckless, stupid, and pointlessly showy.

Damon leaned forward. "Angle the propeller against the wind, don't kill the engine entirely."

"If I don't kill the propeller it'll make me spiral down," Link said, as the turbulence around the top of the tower shook his throttle. As he spoke, the Flit began a slow rotation.

"Light your prop and burn at windspeed. The wind tends to swirl near the top."

Link shot Damon an annoyed glance. "Would you like to fly it for me, maybe?"

Damon rolled his eyes, sat back, and scowled.

The wind blew the Flit against the heavy stone railing of the tower. The fuselage groaned under the strain, and Malon squeaked. Reluctantly, Link powered the propeller. He had rarely encountered this much turbulence so close to touching down, and it felt tense to him. Usually, by the time he was a few feet off the ground, he could afford to kill the propeller and use it only as a powerless rudder. But this time, the landing zone was very small, and the winds, very strong.

With the counter-force of the propeller, he neutralized the wind shear and carefully inched the Flit down. The landing area was so narrow that it looked like a steep drop into the ocean on his left. But Colin was instructing him to nudge closer still to the tower, and he soon felt the right landing gear scrape against the stone. He waited, with baited breath, as Colin calculated the clearance for the other landing gear, then, once Colin nodded, killed the power. The hovercrafts stopped whining, and the Flit dropped narrowly onto the strip of stone that served for a landing pad.

"Ugh, my paint job," Malon bemoaned as she reached over to slide the door open. Instantly, wind engulfed into the cockpit, tousling her hair with a whoosh. She stepped out and began her inspection. Sheik followed closely, letting out a low whistle of admiration at the landing Link had achieved.

Begrudgingly, Link nodded at Damon. "Thank you." Damon shrugged.

"So," Colin asked, stepping out last. "Why did you insist on landing here?" Now that he was no longer inside the Flit, making calculations and obeying his superior, he felt comfortable asking questions.

"I can't quite explain it," Link said, stepping forward onto the tower top. It was circular, and wide, with a rather large pathway on the circumference. There was a broken wall with circular windows rising on the north side, and the Flit was sitting where it had approached, on the south side. Grassy herbs and sturdy bushes grew in the cracks of stone, defying all logic. In the middle, though, rose two broken pillars and slabs, piled under the massive weight of the bell. Though it was eaten away by the sea air and centuries of sun and rain, the bell still carried signs of intricate design. Malon reached out to touch it where it lay on its broken bed of stone.

The others were waiting for him to explain himself further, if only to be told why Link had chosen to land on a dead end with a steep drop all around.

Link stepped forward, coming to stand at Malon's side, and stared down at the bell.

"I wonder who used to ring this bell," Malon said. "The Rito? Who else could come up here before hovercrafts existed?"

Something bothered Link, and he had no way of explaining what it was. He reached out to touch the bell.

It was hot under his touch, the product of metal sitting in the unyielding ocean sun. He didn't know what to expect, and was mildly disappointed when nothing happened.

"I suppose we can try to rappel down the side," Sheik said, peering down the tower carefully. "We have gear for two, and a crane on the Flit..."

"No," Link shook his head. "No, I'll fly us down." He looked up at where the bell must have hung, all those years ago. "I don't know. I know you said," he turned to Damon, "that there was nothing here to find. But I just…"

He stepped away from the bell, and circled it, around the walkway, to the back.

And stopped.

A Hylian crest, intricate in its design, hewn into the stone, gave him pause. It was a masterful piece of work, worthy of conservation.

Most importantly, the weeds hadn't overgrown it. The three golden triangles were actually painted gold, as though time had not weathered away all the color of the tower. The red Hyrulian phoenix was as radiant as it must have been on the day of its creation.

From a few steps behind, Damon scowled. "I didn't like it, but we didn't have time to preserve the artworks. We could have donated them to a museum, made a penny."

"No, it's meant to be here, not carved out and transported away," Malon exclaimed.

"The Tower isn't stable, and it might collapse one day. Guardians meant to preserve it. It's the Guardian way."

Malon didn't look very sure about that declaration, but Damon didn't seem overly concerned.

Link barely paid attention. The phoenix was very red. Unusually preserved, unusually brilliant. How was that possible, when the bell itself was wasting itself into dust? Pigments of this intensity…

He crouched and reached out. Phoenixes were a symbol of Hyrule, so the presence of this crest in Waker was odd. Absently, he wondered about that. Phoenixes were mythical creatures, and known only for their spectacular ability to be reborn after death. He wondered why Hyrule would have such a mythical beast for a crest.

Except that he had an inkling he knew why, and it bothered him nearly as much as the strange instinct he'd had to fly straight to the top of the Tower. It was almost too preposterous to consider.

Under his fingers, the pigments came away, as though they had only just been applied, and hadn't had time to dry. Was that possible? The red smelled old. It smelled of fire and forests and shadow. It smelled wet.

Something felt uncanny, too, as though it spread from his fingers to his mind sluggishly, like a memory of a memory.

"I don't…"

The ground fell out from under his feet.

* * *

><p><strong>Cliffhanger? Cliffhanger.<strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	44. 3-9 - The Old Men

**Haha, you thought this was going to be a Link chapter?**

**Guess what! **

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 9: THE OLD MEN**

* * *

><p><em>3<em>_rd__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

Rauru Luz rubbed his hands together to keep them warm. A silent chill had settled on Castleton. It wasn't normal in this season for the evening to feel this cool. More than anything, however, the silence was the truly unsettling face of the night.

Castleton was a bustling city, home to people of all races, lively and active, loud and prosperous. It was the imperial capital, the seat of the Temple, the crossroads of a hundred paths. It was alive in every way, its people like ants among buildings that grew and changed and evolved and looked like a mix of a thousand eras. The food, the music, the leisure, the technology were all treasures best savoured in the city.

So tonight, Rauru Luz felt an unease he profoundly disliked.

Rauru had taken to bringing some Citadel food into the Sacred district, to comfort the hungry. Now that the day was over and that all who had a home were retreating there to cower in the night, Rauru made his way into the inner court of the Citadel. It towered above him so high he could only squint up on sunny days and hope to catch a glimpse of the top. Tonight, he did not expose his neck to the chill, not even to crane up at the marvel of architecture.

Besides, the sky was eerie tonight, its rare stars twinkling coldly and heavy dark clouds passing low over the city.

Guards let him pass. As he entered the towering lobby, all its usual bustle dead now that the day was over, his footsteps echoed on the tiles, his breathing sounding loudly against the high ceiling.

The lift gaped open. When a boy came to offer him help up the tower, Rauru waved him away. "I can handle it. Thank you."

The lift was fully automated. The boy's help was only courtesy. Rauru cranked the lever up to the top, muscles tight. The doors slid closed. Rauru absently removed his scarf, pensive. He felt the lurch as the lift came to a stop, and the doors slid open with barely a sigh.

Renado was already there. He stood, as he always did, with his arms clasped behind his back, his imposing form cutting a silhouette against the dark windows. Rauru reached for the light, and let it fill the room starkly. Renado turned.

"This chill is not seasonable."

Renado had a weight to his voice that made all his declarations sound ominous. Rauru would have, in another time, remonstrated him for it. These days, however, he found himself weary and old, and entirely agreeing.

"Yes," he said, gruffly.

He did not say aloud what he was beginning to feel in his gut. He did not give voice to his doubts and his ailing faith.

As though he could read Rauru's weakening resolve, Renado said, his weighted tone lending itself to his show of support like a comforting anchor, "Faith has been my companion, these days. The goddesses would not abandon us in our time of need."

Rauru wanted to grumble. Instead, he said, "What if they have chosen to support the Guardians?" He did not need to mention the growing tension in the city. He did not need to point out that the Guardian troops were massing uncomfortably close to their northern border, ready to swell over the mountains and crush them. He did not need to mention their inferior numbers, their scattered forces, their absent princess.

"What do the texts say about hopelessness?"

Rauru sat at the long, empty table. The Council was defunct now, manned by three old men. If only to humour Renado, he recited, "Hope is brightest in the dark." He did not see the quote as very helpful, however. Hope never died, it was true, but it did not equal salvation.

"Haven't the goddesses sent saviours before?"

Rauru couldn't hold back a rueful smile. "The Evil King's Bane, yes."

"The Hero of Time, and the Hero of Winds, and the Hero of Ages. You are not the only one who is well-read, my friend."

Rauru shot his old companion a tired smile. "My friend, legends are for keeping children warm in the night."

In return, Renado's stern lips stretched into a gentle smile. "It _is_ a cold night, yes."

"I always thought it was interesting how the faith told the same story over and over," Rauru mused. "Like it was history, bound to repeat itself. The wise princess, the valiant hero, the greedy king."

"Well," Renado said, playing with a sheaf of paper detailing military operations in the south and in Waker, "it appears we have all elements of the triad but one."

"What do you mean?"

Renado sat next to Rauru heavily, as though he, too, felt the weight of the world on his wide shoulders. "We have the evil king." He did not need to clarify who he was talking about. "And the wise princess."

Rauru snorted. "A princess, yes, but I wouldn't say she is wise."

"I have often found wisdom can seem like folly to the foolish." Renado said this with a smile that indicated he meant no true insult.

"She is on her way home," Rauru said, at length. "Perhaps she will find herself improved by her adventure, but I doubt there is much she can do now."

"She is young," Renado said, his voice soft. He was staring glassily at the large windows, the darkness outside howling coldly. "Perhaps there is hope for the young."

"Don't worry about your daughter," Rauru comforted. He laid a gnarled hand on Renado's shoulder. "Luda is strong and she has learned from the best. Kakariko is in good hands."

Renado nodded dully, but did not reply. They sat in a long silence, busy with their thoughts.

"This is my last war," Rauru said at last, with comforting finality. He felt his years crumble around him and wondered how time could have slipped by so fast. "I don't think I have another in me."

Renado laughed, his chuckle deep in his throat. "I believe one might say, 'Not with a fizzle, but with a bang', yes?"

"Oh, I'll be sure to draw my last rather than let Ganondorf set foot in this city. I fear it may not be enough." He was already tired. "Did you ever envision your life to end like this?"

Renado did not answer immediately. He liked to take time to ponder before answering. It was a quality Rauru admired in him. "I did not expect it to be both so ordinary and so extraordinary."

It was a succinct thought, and Rauru wondered what made him say that. But Renado did not elaborate. Instead, the Lord of Kakariko asked, "What about you, old friend?"

"I thought I was destined for great things. I thought I could guide the people to the warmth of the gods, cradle and comfort them. I wanted to shelter them." He thought of Zelda, and of her sudden escape. "It appears, for the most part, my help is unwanted. Perhaps that is a good thing." Still, one did not throw themselves into life expecting to give, only to discover their own uselessness.

Renado nodded, but added nothing. Behind them, the lift doors opened, and Auru Mage stepped into the room. Renado turned, and greeted him with a polite nod. "Admiral."

Auru nodded curtly, then sat at their side. Now, Rauru mused, they were three old men sitting above the world, contemplating their helplessness.

"I have done all I can," Auru said, eventually. His voice sounded tired in the echoing room.

"Gentlemen," Renado said, "the attack may come during the night. It may come in the next week. It may come in a month. The waiting will kill us. We must not let it break the spirit of the people in this city. They, more than any of us, will defend Castleton."

"Agreed," Rauru said, feeling heavier still. "But for all their sakes I hope the attack comes later rather than sooner. Before long Dragmire will have the city under siege, and no allies will be able to rescue us then."

Auru nodded. "We have already prepared the few underground spaces to be livable. We may have to relocate the people there. And I want the streets clear when we engage the enemy."

Rauru frowned. "There isn't enough space for all civilians in the sewers and reservoirs. Surely there are reinforced places for them?"

Auru nodded. He was a serious looking man, but for all his martial rigidity, Rauru was oddly reminded of himself, thirty years younger. "I came to ask for your assistance," Auru was saying. "The Temple of Time is old, but it has been built to withstand a lot of punishment. Will you open the doors to people when they come for refuge?"

"Of course," Rauru said.

"I cannot guarantee that we will be able to protect you properly. We are very understaffed." Auru was as straightforward as ever, but the crinkle of his brow betrayed his concern, and, most impressively, his guilt.

Rauru smiled, if only to alleviate his worries. "The servants of the gods can defend their children with all the passion of Din's fire, my friend. You will want to protect the important resources: the water, the fuel. Do not concern yourself with the flock. I'll see to their safety."

Auru nodded again. "Thank you." He turned to Renado. "I settled your contribution of troops on the eastern side of the city. Their airships will cover the ground in the fields. I figured they would prefer being as close to Kakariko as possible, just in case..."

Renado bent his head in silent gratitude. Then, he said, "I assure you, your compassion for my men is appreciated."

Outside, the wind was rising. Even in the safety of the Citadel, Rauru could imagine the cold bite eating through his skin and trapping his bones.

He wanted to ask his fellow Stewards what their odds were.

But he knew the answer already, and did not need to feel the truth eat at his heart.


	45. 3-10 - The Wayward Son

**This isn't a Link or Zelda chapter either. The next one is, though, I swear.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 10: THE WAYWARD SON**

* * *

><p><em>4<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, over the southern fields<br>The City in the Sky, Celestia_

Shad felt every step of his boots on the metal floor like it resonated into his bones, a cold tremor he disliked.

His resolve was already weak, but there was no going back. He had made a promise, and skies, he would see it through.

"Shad." Ooccoo called from the library when he passed her by. He did not dare look at her. The diminutive Oocca lady was freakishly brilliant. He feared she would read his mind and try to stop him.

"We will talk later, Ooccoo."

She muttered something in Old Hylian, but her waddle could not keep up with his deliberately long strides. Some guilt ate at him for that. He had always gone out of his way to accomodate the Oocca.

But she would not understand what he was about to do.

His father's study was in the same dusty disarray it had always been. Shad didn't bother knocking. He worried his resolve would crumble too soon. The weight against his thigh, though he had meant it to be comforting, was now slowing him into doubt.

"Ooccoo, I want my altimeter. Where did I put it?"

Thaddeus Knowing himself still had not changed at all. It made Shad seethe inside to see it. How could wars be burning the countryside, and children be torn from their beds to escape death, and wives wail over coffins, and this man be so unaffected?

"I'm back, Father." For once, Shad managed to keep his voice cool. He knew he could be ill-tempered. He had worked his whole life to stay collected, aristocratic, wise, gentle. Inside, something was building that he wasn't sure he could control.

Thaddeus looked up. His father had always looked so much like him. Or perhaps it was the other way around. Looking at the cool, calculating eyes behind his father's glasses, Shad felt he was staring at his future self, a half-mad scientist, a researcher of the unusual, an engineer of the sky. He had tried his whole life to hate the idea, but now that he stood in front of it, it didn't seem so unmanageable. He might even come to enjoy it.

"Come to make good on your promise, son?" Thaddeus' evident pleasure at the thought was neither warm nor familial. Shad made sure to reply in kind.

"I'm a man of my word." He was sure his father caught the meaning. Thaddeus was many things, but he wasn't daft.

"You're insinuating I didn't hold up my end of the bargain." Absently, Thaddeus flicked at a mote of dust. "But I did. Did your friend make it out alive? Yes? You're welcome."

"Skies forbid you'd actually help her for real."

"What are you saying?" Thaddeus asked. He fidgeted uncomfortably in his chair, scowling. "You want me to throw this City into the war?" He snorted. "Fool."

"Yes," Shad impatiently said. "I know. The City is a haven of peace. We're all very impressed." Angrily, he spat, "Hyrule is losing the war. You have the largest aircraft in the world, the strongest power source for miles around, and I know that you have the means to defend it."

Thaddeus did not deny the existence of working cannons. That was a comfort. Still, he said, "You want me to join the losing side of a war that will only return all things to the status quo. Your imperial majesty is a girl with no experience. Ganondorf Dragmire is a warlord worthy of fear. And you want me to throw Celestia in his path." He shook his head. "No, I think not."

"There are rewards in it for you," Shad calmly said.

Thaddeus barked out in laughter. "What precious thing could Hyrule give me that I did not take already? Celestia is already perfect."

Shad was hit with recollection, of his father waxing poetic about his mother. Celestia had been the most perfect woman in all of Hyrule, to hear him say it.

But Thaddeus was not talking about his dead wife. It was obvious that no amorous sentiment motivated his gloating. Something else was precious to him, something he had taken from Hyrule. Years and years Shad had heard him allude to his most precious possession, the key to Celestia's heart, and mistaken it for a romantic idea of his mother.

It had taken a very serious pardoned ex-soldier to nudge all the pieces in place. The day Damon Fierce and Nabooru Spirit had mentioned golems and their power sources, Shad had taken only a few days to put two and two together.

The icy pain of his father's hypocritical secrecy had been replaced by cold rage.

Thaddeus Knowing had stolen a Sol from Hyrule. Shad only knew about them from legend, but it all made sense now. The City in the Sky only existed because it had a nearly infinite source of power, all condensed in one handily stolen package.

If his father was in possession of a Sol, it meant that Celestia was the key to winning the war, or at least staving off Ganondorf's advance into Hyrule.

If Shad had been an evil man, he would have simply slipped into the City core and stolen the Sol. But hundreds of people lived and worked on Celestia. It would have been cataclysmic for them. And Shad was not a mass-murderer.

"How long have you possessed the third Sol, and where did you steal it from?" He asked.

Thaddeus looked mildly surprised that his son had pieced things together, but brushed it off easily. "There was a ruin, in Gerudo. Broken shards of mirror. Your mother and I were there on an archaeological dig."

"And Mother never said anything?" That was a bigger surprise than everything else.

"She was easy to persuade," Thaddeus said. His face melted for an instant into something Shad barely recognized. It was a warm smile.

Discomfort filled Shad. His father was not a warm person by nature. The only part of him that had thawed, evidently, was the part that loved his much-mourned wife.

No matter. Shad wouldn't let himself soften over something so trivial. "Zelda is the future empress of Hylia. The Sol is hers by right."

Thaddeus laughed. "No, it isn't. It's an old Sheikah artifact. Well," Thaddeus tilted his head curtly, lips pursed, "Twili, now, I suppose. And I don't think you want me to send anything useful to Midna Black of Twilight. You need to think, boy." The amusement died quickly, turning into a foul glare. "Besides, the Sol stays here."

Shad felt the weight against his thigh heavier than ever. His hands felt clammy, and his heart was beating wildly. Still, when he managed to speak, his voice was calm and composed. "I was afraid you'd say that."

Thaddeus' brows rose in challenge, but when Shad did not continue, he barked in laughter. "You're not exactly what I expected from a son. Regardless, you're not going back to Hyrule proper, or are you not here to honour your promise?"

Shad wondered why he hadn't told Zelda about that. It was important, certainly, but it hadn't seemed of any consequence compared to her life. As she had lain then, pale and weak and dying, watched over by Link Forester and Malon Ranch, he had been ready to give anything to keep her alive. She had befriended him when all of the Citadel wanted to write him off as the rich son of an eccentric inventor: respected, but distasteful. An investment for her future, at most.

Sometimes, Shad mused, lives could be saved with trades that had nothing to do with magic.

And so he had promised to return to Celestia, in time, and to be bound to it. It was the gift the Lord of Celestia had to make: a promise that whoever guided the ship would go down with it.

Once bound, Shad would never leave the City in the Sky, under promise of death. His father was bound already, and he wanted his heir close.

What was his life in a floating prison compared to Zelda's continued existence?

Shad wondered what Ashei Snow would have said. She might have laughed in his face, called him a weakling. Or she might have silently grieved with him. He was never sure.

Thaddeus seemed to find Shad's silence extremely amusing. "Well, come on forward, let's get this over with before you run off again."

Ooccoo waddled into the room, looking winded. She was so short, so grotesque, but in that moment, she looked genuinely concerned, her humanoid face contorted into sincere worry. Shad did not dare to meet her eyes, could not see the disappointment there. She had always wanted him to be free. She had taught him about the world, had educated him on the wonders and the customs of Hyrule and its neighbours. He was throwing all that away.

"Ooccoo, good," Thaddeus said, his tone clipped. "You're here. You'll be our witness. Where did I put the… Oh, right."

Thaddeus Knowing reached up to a dusty shelf, his nimble fingers closing around a small wooden box. Inside, a harmless-looking bracelet sat on a blue velvet cushion. Thaddeus lifted it up, smiling coolly.

"Come, boy."

Shad's whole body wanted to dart. He felt the anxiety fill him to the point of terror. This was it. His whole life would be bound to Celestia. He would never leave again. It made him want to leave forever, while he still could.

It had been his plan, at first. If he never came back, he would never have to stay.

Shad forced himself to remain steady. It was too late now. He had made a promise to Zelda and Ashei that he would get help. His father's promise had, until then, simply been the incentive to stay away.

But Hyrule needed him more.

Shad outstretched his arm, and tried not to shudder. The bracelet looked innocuous enough on the outside. It was a thin construction of leather and metal, with a dial to make it into a watch. But the inside of the bracelet, under the dial, was shaped into a nasty needle, and clamps on either side made sure that once the bracelet was grafted on, there would be no removing it, or leaving the City, without earning a lethal injection. Death would be painless, and near instantaneous, but the thought of dying of old age with the bracelet around his arm made him want to run away all over again..

Thaddeus Knowing had created it without thinking twice. Shad wasn't sure what that revealed of the man.

As the needle slid under his skin, Shad finally met Ooccoo's sad eyes. He didn't bother trying to smile.

"There," Thaddeus said, fastening the leather over Shad's wrist. The needle was on the underside of his wrist, so that he only had to twist his hand to see the time. With a deft, familiar motion, Thaddeus showed him where to press in order to lift the dial, so that he could wash the point of injection as needed without removing the needle.

Shad didn't reply.

"Well," Thaddeus said, clapping his son on the shoulder. "You're a son of mine again."

"Will Celestia respond to my orders now?" Shad asked hollowly. The bracelet identified him to all the command centres in the City as its chief administrator.

"As though you had never left," Thaddeus said, wearily.

Shad reached down to the weight at his side for comfort. Ooccoo watched him warily. At length, Shad asked, "When you said that you had Celestia's heart… you weren't talking about Mother. Were you?"

Thaddeus did not seem pleased when he shook his head. "Not always."

"What were you proudest of? Having my mother for a wife, or building… this?" He vaguely gestured to the ceiling.

Ooccoo clucked. "_Yulo_, stop."

"No," Shad snapped, surprising both Oocco and his father. "I want to know! Tell me you loved her more than this."

The dust motes in the air shone under the slanting sun rays. For all the silence in the room, Shad's ears were buzzing loudly. Even Celestia's massive hovercrafts seemed to rumble with each blade rotation.

"I'll always have her close," Thaddeus said.

He raised his wrist, the bracelet shining gold. Shad felt rage fill his heart. Of course the bond to the City was greater than any other. Shad grabbed the gun that had weighed against his thigh, leveling it at his father's head.

Thaddeus watched his son with a strange mix of amusement and sadness. "You were always stronger than either of us," he said.

"You should have loved Mother. She died to be with you."

Something in Thaddeus' eyes seemed to break, and to Shad's astonishment, a tear rolled down the older man's cheek.

"I have not forgotten." With one deft movement, Thaddeus Knowing reached for his bracelet and ripped it out.

The buzzing was so loud that Shad wasn't sure whether he had screamed or not. He set the gun down, sliding across the floor to grab his father. In a million different shards of light, he saw Ooccoo rushing forward, and his father's wrist bleeding black. He saw his own hands grabbing his father's collar, pulling him forward. He saw the dust fly around them heedlessly, and the way the light caught that anomalous tear on his father's face.

"Did you live a good life, lad?" Thaddeus asked as Shad watched the black poison darken his veins as it worked its way up his arm and to the heart. There was no stopping it, no way to slow it. "You were meant to travel. You have the means to, now."

"What are you doing?" Shad asked, angrily. "Why?"

Thaddeus laughed, but it was a cough, his collar choking him. "You're not a murderer. I have waited so long for you to come here, to rule Celestia." It was unspoken, but Shad could see it in his eyes: 'Now I can finally rest.'

"Why didn't you tell me?" He shook his father, and watched as the skin of his face grew pale.

"You're no murderer," Thaddeus repeated. In a rush, Shad tried to push away the pieces of truth that assailed him. If his father had shared his suicidal thoughts, perhaps Shad would have never returned at all, even in the direst of circumstances.

He wasn't a murderer. For all that he had brought a gun, they both knew he did not have the heart to fire it. He wasn't a patricide.

"Why did you let me go with Zelda last time?" Under his hands, his father's body weakened, and Shad caught him as his knees crumpled. Thaddeus was dying, his heart spreading poison along his nerves, straight to his head.

"One last adventure," Thaddeus said, and Shad thought he saw a trace of anger there, of frustration.

"You fool!" Belatedly, Shad realized he was blubbering. "What happened to honesty? You were my father!"

"I am Celestia's." The simplicity of the words made Shad release his father. He watched, helplessly, as his skin grew ashy grey, as the pulse of his neck slowed, as his hands and legs began to seize. Soon, his father's whole body was overcome with seizure, a chorus of dying nerves struggling to make sense of themselves. No matter how Shad tried to relax him, his father could have been made of wood.

As the muscles tensed erratically and began to cramp up, Ooccoo came forward, and sadly said, "He is gone, _yulo_."

"No," Shad breathed. "He's still moving―"

"His mind is gone."

As she spoke, the muscles began to shake, and loosen, and one by one, the organs shut down, a few heartbeats like a swansong. Shad found he was holding on to his father's lapel with a helpless fist.

"He does not suffer," Ooccoo said.

All in all, the poison had taken two minutes to act, and perhaps another minute to kill. Shad forced himself to release his grip, but he found his own muscles shaking with shock.

The long silence that stretched then was the loudest Shad had ever heard. He expected his father to rise up with a loud choke, laughing at him for his emotion. In his ears, he heard his own heart pumping, the blood buzzing loudly. The burning reality of his new responsibility was impossible to grasp.

"Did you know he wanted to do this?" In the crushing silence, Shad's voice sounded small.

Ooccoo did not reply, and that was answer enough. Shudders began to seize Shad, and he started to cry.

If time passed, he was not entirely aware of it. Ooccoo had some of his father's assistants take his father's body away. Shad, for his part, sat watching the sunlight slant against the floor, and up the wall, and fade. Somewhere along the line, the tears had stopped. He could still feel his blood pulsing, could smell iron somewhere. He wondered.

The sun was gone for a long time before it started coming again. The dawn was breaking the darkness of his father's study. Ooccoo came to find him, and thanked him for his vigil. Shad nodded, but wasn't sure what she meant. He was tired.

"We wait," Ooccoo said. She seemed to be expecting something.

Shad stared at the diminutive Oocca. At length, he passed his hand over his face, feeling the skin itch with stubble. "... Yes." His bracelet caught the weak light. It made him want to scream.

"_Yulo―_" Ooccoo stopped herself. "_Nonn_, Shad. You are a child no longer."

"Aren't I?" Shad softly asked.

"This may seem like a…" Ooccoo struggled to find the words that were not in Old Hylian. "... a curse. But it is a gift, too."

A gift. Shad wanted to roll his eyes. Ooccoo stared expectantly.

Finally, Shad sighed. He nodded, stood, felt his muscles scream in disagreement, and tried to remember where he was meant to sleep.

As an afterthought, he turned.

"Ooccoo," he said, his voice cracking with exhaustion, "please tell everyone to prepare. And prep the backup generators. We have an appointment to keep."

* * *

><p><strong>Sometimes building up the apex of a story is more fun than the apex itself.<strong>

**Let me know if you're getting psyched so I can decide whether it's happening properly. Heheh**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	46. 3-11 - The Hero

**I should be working because my boss is doing the rounds but here I am instead.**

**See you at the bottom.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. Why is there always animal hair on my keyboard? There are no pets in this office. I will investigate.**

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 11: THE HERO**

* * *

><p><em>4<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Waker, Tower of the Gods<br>Topmost floor_

It had taken Link some time to grow accustomed to the dark. The light well he'd fallen through allowed a narrow pool of light on the cracked stone, but little else. He'd been fortunate that weeds had overgrown the place, or his landing would have been a lot more painful.

He'd also been fortunate to land on the platform instead of falling to the floor below.

It was a strange platform, seemingly suspended in mid-air, held to the wall only by a curved bracket.

Link speculated that he was sitting on a statue's hand. As he shakily stood, he heard voices above, and squinted against the light to peer up.

"Link! Are you alright?"

Malon's voice echoed clearly into the vast room. Link testily checked himself for injuries. Aside from some inevitable scrapes, he'd pulled through rather well.

"I'm alright," he called, checking himself for anything he could use to produce light.

As though anticipating his need, Sheik called out a warning into the hole and dropped some lit flares. They fell to the floor, giving Link his first bright red impression of the room. It was a lot bigger than he'd expected, and in a stunning state of preservation, save the few places where weeds had found root.

"Do you see anything?" Sheik called.

Link did a survey of the room. A darkened entrance gaped at the other end of the room, at floor level. The walls were ornately decorated and the floor, from Link's vantage point, was a beautiful mosaic of the Triforce and many religious symbols.

The room was empty, save for the large statue Link stood on, and Link found that he was relieved of it. He had worried that Guardian troops might still be lying in wait, baiting them into the room.

But no one could have predicted that he would fall through the mosaic. Link looked down at his fingers, trying to understand why the phoenix fresco had reacted to him. Or maybe it hadn't. Maybe it was just a stroke of bad luck, and the stone was due to give way.

But somehow Link didn't think that was the case.

"Nothing unusual," he replied, to Sheik.

"Hold on, we're sending you the crane. We'll pull you up."

"Not yet," Link said. "I'd like to take a look around first."

Now that his eyes were better accustomed to the dark and the strange light of the flares, Link re-evaluated the distance to the floor. Testing the edge of the statue's hand for a good hold, he turned against the edge and held on, then slowly let himself down until he was dangling from its fingers by the very tip of his own fingers.

When he let go, he only had approximately his own height left to fall, and he rolled to spare any strain to his legs, the way his training had taught him.

Then, he stood again, and turned to look at the statue that had broken his fall.

"Skies."

"What? What is it?" The tone of alarm that came from the hole above indicated that his companions didn't enjoy being left in the dark.

"Nothing," he hastened to reassure them. "It's just… I think I found the golem."

The statue was angular, a massive head and large hands. It had no legs or body that Link could see. A strange crested helm on its head gave it a martial air, but Link felt no fear. Circuitry seemed engraved in the stone, but the golem gave no sign of life.

"Is it big?" Malon asked.

"Massive," Link whispered to himself. Then, for Malon's benefit, he said, "I don't know how they even fit this thing in here. It's too big for the hole I fell through."

There was an exchange of words above, but the size of the room distorted the conversation too much for Link to understand it. It didn't matter. He grabbed a flare and circled the statue. It was sitting on the northern side of the room, with some leeway between the wall and its back. It was overgrown with weeds.

It occurred to Link that he was very much out of his element. What had he been thinking? Zelda had no use for a large statue.

As he walked around it, squeezing in between the statue and the wall, he noticed the back of the golem had a phoenix emblem. It shone deep red in the flare light. Instinctively, Link reached out, then stopped.

A part of him felt like this was a terrible idea, and the other was indescribably curious. As he stood, stretched out between the wall and the golem's head, doubt filled his gut for the first time in a long, long time.

Bugger it.

"For skies' sake," he grunted, reaching out to touch the phoenix emblem without ceremony, its pigments as fresh as new, smudging his fingers with it. The space was very narrow, and he moved away from the emblem almost as soon as he had touched it, and took a breath. His fingers were wet, and they smelled like dusty sunlight and crackling fire and wet wood.

The tower rumbled.

"Link?" Malon's voice exclaimed. "Link, are you alright? The tower seems unstable!"

Dust fell from the ceiling, but otherwise, the room was unchanged. Still, Link said, "Yeah, everything is stable in here―"

Malon's surprised shriek interrupted him. He rushed to the pool of light and peered up desperately. "Malon? Sheik? Colin!"

There was commotion at the top, and there was nothing Link could do to help. He paced back and forth, trying to make out anything he could, to no avail.

The tower rumbled again. The floor _changed_.

An eerie glow began around the room, like pale moonlight in the fog. He couldn't pinpoint its origin, let alone what exactly had triggered it.

"Hero."

Link nearly jumped out of his skin. He whirled to the statue and the source of the echoing word. He licked his lips. Up above, he couldn't make out any more noises, and anguish filled his gut. Were his companions alive?

"Hero." This time, the word was insistent. Link turned to the statue and its glowing eyes. He gulped.

"How…? You don't have a power source…" He mumbled.

His heart lurched. He had spoken aloud in a language he did not recognize. He understood it, certainly, and his mouth did not seem to struggle in shaping the words, but it was not the words he had grown up with. A strange sense of otherness invaded him, as though he did not belong to himself anymore.

The golem had not moved, but a transformation had overcome it. The weeds were gone, the cracks erased, and faded circuitry restored anew. Link took a step back on the glowing mosaic floor.

"You have come too late," the golem said, though its lips did not move and Link could not pinpoint any speaker. Its voice was deep and spoke in the same old language Link could not recognize.

"What's going on? How can I understand you?" He checked himself, "I mean, how can I understand _myself_?"

"I cannot give you that memory. It will likely never come." A pause, as though pondering. "I have tested heroes for ages in times long past. You are too late."

"Too late for what?" His friends were up there, damn it, and Zelda was on the edge of battle!

"My power source is lost. This moment is but an echo. I have no strength without power, no will without courage, and no voice without wisdom."

"Talk sense, will you? My friends need my help." Link stared up again, but there were still no signs of life. His heart ached in helplessness.

"You seek my assistance in a battle against the Evil King."

Link looked at the golem with newfound curiosity. "I guess? It's not an Evil King, though. He's more… an admiral, really."

"I am made for two purposes," the golem continued unheedingly. "To test and to aid. You..." The golem was silent as a grave for a moment, and Link feared it had powered down, but then the sentence continued, "... have already been tested."

"I have?" That came as a surprise. Link's brow furrowed. "When?"

"Your heart has been tried many times. Your home destroyed, many of your childhood friends killed in battle, your family displaced, your country at war. My records indicate it has been many centuries since the last cycle. This war will be violent."

"Cycle? What?"

"You have been tested, and now you will be aided. But I cannot aid you in the state you know me to be." The golem's response was mechanical, but Link couldn't fight the uncanny feeling that Magic was behind it.

"You look well enough," Link carefully said. "You can talk."

"I have transported you to the past, to my previous record."

"_What?_"

"My energy stores in the future, where you are from, are not sufficient to aid you in battle. You will need a power source. I am not difficult," the golem added, as though with a sense of humour. Still, the implications and the memory of Captain Nabooru's descriptions made him uneasy.

Regardless, he had to make do. "Honestly, don't worry too much," Link said, waving it off, although he wasn't sure the golem could even see him. "I'm not even sure I could remove you from this room if I tried. That's probably why Ganondorf Dragmire's troops retreated." Although it did not explain why they had retreated so hastily.

"If they fought for the Evil King, then the tower itself will have defended my remains. There is Magic potent enough here to outlast me for several centuries."

Link snorted. "Right. Magic."

"Has it not succeeded?"

To his surprise, Link found himself saying, "No, I daresay it worked very well." He was surprised at how easily the Old Hylian rolled in his mouth. It was like he had spoken it his whole life.

"Magic is being snuffed out," the golem observed. "By your time, I suspect, it has all but faded into oblivion."

"Real Magic doesn't exist," Link said, his voice confident and his mind filled with doubt.

"If you do not believe, the Sages will surprise you."

No part of that sentence was comprehensible. Link frowned. A rumble echoed into the roots of the tower, as though the whole tower laughed along with the golem. Link ignored the amusement of the stones.

"What's your name?"

"Gohdan is my name."

"How do I get you out of here?"

"There is a way."

The tower rumbled again, and Link turned. Against the wall, a bright circle outlined itself. As Link watched, the circle grew, letting in a strong gale. Beyond, he discovered that the sky was overcast and heavy. Somehow, the past was stormy and thundering. The wind whipped at Link's uniform, tousled his hair, and reminded him of his first Flit. The opening was now large enough to fit Gohdan, though it gave out over the ocean. It didn't matter. If he manoeuvred the Flit properly, he might be able to pull the golem out―

As he watched, the opening stopped widening, and the skies outside cleared into sunshine.

Link turned. The room was still again, and dark. The golem had not moved. It sat, covered in weeds, cracked and dead in the wide swath of sunlight. Link cleared his throat.

"Gohdan?" His voice was weak. "You there?"

He was speaking his own language again. As comforting as that was, Link felt an odd sense of loss.

The golem did not reply.

"Link? Link!"

He snapped out of it. "Sheik! Hey, Sheik, I'm here, I'm here, I'm alright. Is Damon with you?" He stepped towards the light well and looked up. Malon was pale.

"He's here. Hey, man, you won't believe it. The bell is back to normal! It fixed itself!"

As though to mark Sheik's unusual announcement, Link felt the gong resonate into his gut. Malon and Sheik covered their ears.

"Colin!" Sheik exclaimed. "Stop that!"

"Can you ask Damon to bring the Flit about? I managed to open the window."

He wasn't going to get into any details just yet. He wasn't even sure that he wasn't going insane. Better hold off until he was safe.

He looked at the golem, and licked his lips. Behind the golem, he now had enough light to make out writing on the walls.

"_Cyclos fenik_," he said, tentatively, in Old Hylian. This time, his mouth struggled to speak it properly. Phoenix cycle. He couldn't make any sense of it, but those were the words engraved on one of the walls, in ancient script. He hadn't been able to read the symbols before.

Gohdan had talked about a cycle, he reflected as Damon brought the Flit about. The hovercrafts' downdrafts tugged at his clothes.

Link shook his head. It was insane.

About as insane as starting to believe that Magic might exist after all.

And that the legends sounded truer than ever before.

What would Zelda say?

* * *

><p><strong>I figured out the cat hair, guys! It's the fur lining on my winter coat's hood. MY BAD.<strong>

**So before anyone has a freakout about Link ever remembering stuff... he won't. Ever. He's not a sage. He doesn't get that privilege. The closest he gets to heroic memory is mere impressions, like instinct.**

**Yep, if anyone had wild theories about this, I just kilt 'em in the egg. T'WAS KILLING MOST FOUL.**

**But guess what? It doesn't matter. Link isn't compelled to be heroic because it's his calling. It's always about the choices he makes. Like everyone else, he has his own agency, motives and options. Or does he? WHAM, THEMATIC CONSTRUCTION.**

**I am so good at this literature theory stuff, it's almost like I studied it with diminishing patience for two whole years.**

**...plzrespond**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	47. 3-12 - The Sage of Light

**Not much to say this time around. Enjoy.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 12: THE SAGE OF LIGHT**

* * *

><p><em>5<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>Citadel docks_

Zelda stepped out of the ship first and Nabooru watched the wind whip at her hair. The princess motioned for Ashei and Nabooru to follow closely. She held Wulf on his leash. The dog was excited to be home. The docks of the Citadel were swarming with soldiers who were making preparations. The air was cool, but Nabooru let it wake her crisply. They'd flown, full speed ahead, to make it on time, and a quick glance at the horizon told her it had been a wise move.

Guardian armies darkened the northern horizon, enemy airships occupying the skies over the Calatian hills. In a few hours, they'd surround the city, and all incoming traffic would be blocked. The siege would begin.

Nabooru turned to hurry after the imperial princess. Ashei was assessing the Citadel coolly, already making calculations. For her part, Nabooru wondered whether she'd be useful at all. Zelda had assured her that Rauru Luz, the dormant Sage of Light, would undoubtedly be there, since he had been appointed a steward of the city. That meant that the only other Sage missing was Impa. Zelda had promised her that they'd called Impa Shades, commander of the air fleet, back to Castleton for reinforcements. Nabooru hadn't pressed the issue, but if Impa Shades had truly been entrenched in Gerudo Canyon, where Nabooru herself had been stationed before this whole adventure had started, there was little chance that she could be called back comfortably without allowing the whole line of resistance to collapse.

Nabooru imagined that, at this stage, Zelda cared more about saving the people of Castleton. But had she still been Air Commander, she'd have tried to salvage all she could, especially since Gerudo Canyon was relatively close to Castleton. It would be a good place to retreat and organize a resistance, should the city fall.

Better not think about that.

"We'll get you some quarters somewhere above the barracks," Zelda said as they strode into the Citadel. The towering building would reach above the clouds, Nabooru reflected as the bay doors closed behind them. She had never visited before. Before the war, she had been content to stay in Gerudo, tranquil.

"Your majesty."

Nabooru would have recognized Rauru Luz anywhere. The more she tried to remember, the more she seemed to know exactly who he was, and how they had been comrades. And despite his outward appearance, _he was strong and quite apt with a staff. His youth was blinding, fierce, powerful, full of curiosity. He sated it―_

―_in the library, his nose in books, his thirst for knowledge insatiable. And there, among the old texts, he found the Sealing spell. What young Mage doesn't dream of releasing his own gods from the Sacred Realm?_

_But the spell went awry, and he was trapped. The Sacred Realm was beautiful, and glorious, and luminous, but it was ageless, and he was not. Alone, with all the Magic of the Realm at his fingertips, he felt his bones begin to weaken, felt his skin wrinkle, felt his stride falter, until at last he was but an old man in tired robes, his staff forgotten, his Magic unbelievably strong from his exposure to the Realm._

_The Temple went up at last, a monument to the Light of the goddesses, his Magic piling the stones and the tiles, his Magic keeping it open and perfect, with Light of all kinds pouring and flowing from all the corners he made. If he was to die, he would at least make his last action a monument to the glory of his worship._

_But he didn't die. And the Sacred Realm grew dark. As the darkness encroached, his skin prickled, his body growing feathered, his fingers turning to talons._

_His new owl shape made him powerful again. More importantly, he could go to Hyrule again, and observe the strange child who was not a child, the boy who wore the green of fields, the boy who was so oddly tied to all the Magic ribbons of fate, and didn't know it._

_Then, the boy came to the Sacred Realm, and Rauru found his purpose. There was his end: to serve in re-sealing the Evil that had corrupted his home, to protect the boy until he was ready to do his part._

_The Light that engulfed Ganondorf was blinding, and Rauru let it consume him._

_At last..._

Nabooru took a deep breath as the memories subsided naturally, feeling like her mastery of the episodes was finally coming under control.

Rauru was old and weary, but he stood tall, his shoulders square despite his heavy paunch. Zelda had warned her that he was an austere man, but Nabooru saw something else in him that wasn't severity. She saw concern and preoccupation, but whatever sermons he might give were born in genuine kindness.

Perhaps Zelda had this insight too, because she reached for Rauru's hands and squeezed them, her face more gentle than Rauru seemed to expect.

"I wanted to apologize," was the first thing she said. "I shouldn't have run."

Rauru observed her with some interest, his eyes sharp. After examination, the High Priest said, "No, you had to, child."

"But we are gladdened that you are home nonetheless," said a tall man with a long nose and thick, dark hair. Nabooru was struck for a moment by his imposing stature and straight, full face. He was handsome, and dressed in Kakariko's traditional garb.

"Renado," Zelda greeted him warmly. Unexpectedly, she reached out to hug him, and while Renado Shaman was initially surprised by the gesture, he smiled kindly.

"Auru Mages is talking with Darunia Rocks as we speak," Rauru said. "He will join us later."

"That's alright," Zelda said. "I must admit I didn't expect I would come home to a crisis, and I am grateful I left the city in your hands."

"For all the good it did," Rauru said grimly. "We have encouraged those who could to evacuate to Kakariko and Lonhill, but most of the citizens have nowhere else to go."

"I won't let the Guardian Armies into the city," Zelda said with determination. "We will use the Citadel shields to break up any aerial attack for as long as we can."

"Some of the city cisterns are empty and sufficiently reinforced to serve as bunkers, yeah?" Ashei asked, speaking up for the first time.

Zelda turned to her as Renado nodded, and exclaimed, "Oh, my manners. I'm sorry, Renado, Rauru, this is Ashei Snow, an aide to Rutela. And here is Nabooru Spirit, of Gerudo."

Wisely, Zelda left out Nabooru's former title. Gratefully, Nabooru stepped forward, reaching for Renado's hand in introduction. His hand engulfed hers and squeezed warmly. There was something about him, perhaps in his physical appearance or demeanour, that evoked something in Nabooru.

_He's what Ganondorf should have been_, a part of her whispered, in Old Hylian. She relented Renado's hand, but the feeling remained. Now that her memories were clearing up, locked down only by two final bolts of Light and Shadow, she was beginning to remember a different time, with a different leader, and how he overlapped uncannily with the Guardian Admiral.

Renado peered at her with mild curiosity. With a lump in her throat, Nabooru smiled weakly.

_Why did the King of Thieves have to be born so cruel? There was only one every hundred years born under his sign, and he had to be so… _Nabooru remembered the feeling of _the scrapes on her hands, the foul, bland taste of prison gruel. The Gerudo were afraid, they who had been so haughty and strong, now cowering before a man made god. Gone the teasing and revels, gone the spices and scents, gone the dancing and silks. Now there was only one purpose they were deemed good for, an art as old as they were, honing their ancient martial skills._

Nabooru tried not to falter. The memory of the prison cell was killing her, _its walls grey red like the canyon stone, a tantalizing glimpse of deep blue sky overhead, and the heat of day, and frost of night._

The Gerudo had lost their identity to a _monster_.

Had there ever been hope for the Gerudo prince, or was he simply born to be hated and feared?

"Nabooru?"

She snapped out of it with more ease than she expected, and the speed with which reality returned almost made her dizzy. Rauru was examining her with some interest, his shrewd eyes seeing something she didn't.

"Yours is a legendary name. Your namesake is very old," he said, the corners of his eyes crinkling. "The scriptures speak of a Gerudo named Nabooru."

"You might know her better than I do," Nabooru said, smiling despite herself. This was it, time to let go of the warmth of the Light. She had not revelled in Rauru's memories as well as she had with others, but they were growing familiar and comforting to her, a throng of quiet contemplations and moments of peace, with some marked events. It was time to let them all go.

She outstretched her hand, and Rauru took it easily, unknowing.

He instantly let out a groan and his knees buckled. Renado was quicker than she was in catching him. At any rate, Nabooru was already lost―

The first thing she realized was that she was blind. The Light was so powerful it filled every corner of her vision, every sinew of her muscles, every cranny of her mind. She was blind and the glory of the Light both burned and soothed, illuminated and secreted. She stood, her hand in Rauru's, feeling his hand tighten around hers. There was no fear, only glory, and curiosity, and the smell of old paper, and dust, and a myriad of different scents too beautiful to identify. They must have been from the Sacred Realm, from before it turned. She felt the powerful surge of wind under wings, and the feeling of what it was truly like to _fly_. She felt every surge of power, every stab of loneliness, and the Magic flowing through her―

Rauru let go.

He was gasping for air, his eyes lost in a daze. Nabooru staggered back, feeling only slightly more stable than he did. The Light had instantly receded, and everything looked dull now, and dreary.

"By the Gods," Rauru breathed as Renado fruitlessly tried to help him up onto wobbling legs.

"What ails you, my friend?" Renado asked, his brow furrowed. "You should sit down, we will call a doctor."

"No," Rauru said, with renewed vigor. He pushed himself to his feet, and Renado released him. The newly awakened Sage of Light turned to Nabooru, and stared.

Under his scrutiny, Nabooru felt every one of her doubts come to light. She squirmed.

"Well," Rauru said, his voice steady. "That gives your name a whole new depth, doesn't it, child?"

And he laughed. It was warm, and light, and Nabooru felt her worries melt away.

"Good goddesses in the sky," Rauru said with a deep breath, "I haven't been this surprised in years. Who else must you meet?"

"Impa Shades," Nabooru said, ignoring Zelda's genial smile and Renado's puzzled expression. Ashei, for her part, simply looked as she usually did: wary.

"Oh." Rauru's face lost its cheer.

Zelda cut in, "What is it?"

"Well, your grace, the truth is that she is still entrenched in Gerudo Canyon, as she was before you left."

"She hasn't rallied to Castleton?" Zelda asked, concern growing on her face.

"She has more experience with trench wars than any of us," Renado said, his face grim. "To remove her at this critical juncture would be tantamount to letting all of Twilight's armies into Hyrule."

The wisdom of it was one thing, but the Sages surely had to come first. Nabooru turned to Zelda.

"Let me go to her, your highness. It has to be done."

"Oh, there's no denying that, child," Rauru said, "but I fear it is too late. By nightfall we will be under siege."

"So I must go now!" Couldn't they see?

"No," Zelda shook her head. "It's too late for that. We will have to deal without Impa, for now." She shot Nabooru a look that quelled any protest. Zelda was evidently concerned, but Nabooru was asking her to spare a Flit with an important amount of costly fuel… and she still didn't fully trust her.

The dawning of that realization was like a slap to the face. Nabooru swallowed hard. What had happened to their sisterhood, to their unity as Sages?

But the truth was, Nabooru still hadn't recovered more than fragments of her own memories as a Sage, where all the others had instantly recovered everything, and she was still an ex-Guardian. She would always be one, no matter what she said.

"Induct me into the Hylian army."

Ashei's brows rose high. To her credit, she said nothing. Even Nabooru was surprised at her own request. But it had to be done. It was the only way she would be trusted, and the only way she'd stop being a threat.

Zelda contemplated her for a long moment. At last, she said, "All right." Then, hesitantly, she added, "And I'll join the army too."

Nabooru had to admit she had not seen that one coming.

* * *

><p><strong>This is going to start moving very fast, so I'll try to keep releases on a tight schedule. 'Try' being the operative word, but I'll do my best.<strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	48. 3-13 - The Gathering Siblings

**I didn't forget to update! Rejoice!**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 13: THE GATHERING SIBLINGS**

* * *

><p><em>5<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

The sun was going down. It had been frustrating to wait for Auru Mages to draw up the enlistment forms. They had to make special provisions for Nabooru's change of sides, and appoint special powers for Zelda to carry on with her duties as princess while the war went on.

It had been an impulsive decision, to follow Nabooru's lead, but Zelda was glad of her choice. The announcement that she was joining her own army had been received with acclaim, and she imagined that any boost to morale was critical.

As she waited for the ink to dry on her enlistment forms, Zelda strode away from the desk and towards the railing overlooking Citadel command. It was a high room with a massive bay window, bustling with activity. Sergeants and captains and ensigns all milled about, preoccupied. She only had to look up to know why.

The near entirety of the Guardian armada had encircled Castleton, just outside of firing range. Zelda had asked the Hylian Alliance forces to spend all afternoon evacuating civilians to the underground cisterns and the Citadel's own bunkers. She had sent Wulf to her quarters, although leaving him there broke her heart: he had been so excited to be home, but she could not afford to have him in the way.

The Guardians were inching forward now.

"Ensign, are you sure there are no incoming Hylian Alliance ships?"

The radar operator was young, but he looked up at her with weary eyes. "If there were, they wouldn't get past the blockade now, your grace."

He was right. Of course he was. Still, it twisted Zelda's stomach to acknowledge it. Her heart pounded, but time was of the essence. It was always only about time.

Link would be alright if he stayed away. It was enough to think he'd live to grow old.

"Very well. Admiral Mage," she called out to Auru, who turned mid-sentence. "Let's not delay any further. Activate the Citadel shields."

This resulted in a flurry of activity. Zelda joined Renado by the bay window as he stared into the Guardian-occupied horizon.

"I'm scared," she confessed in a whisper.

"Do not be," Renado whispered in return, his voice deep and comforting. "There was only ever one course to follow."

"Was there?" Zelda questioned, trying not to smile ironically. She found herself longing for Link's smile. Perhaps they had been destined to meet. That was a lovely thought, even if it didn't keep her warm tonight, or save her people. "Let's hope it doesn't end soon."

"You are more than your doubts," Renado said, sternly. "I have seen a change in you. You are stronger, perhaps, or wiser. Do not let this hardship kill you before the battle starts."

Zelda nodded at his harsh admonishment. "Why did you stay, Renado? Wouldn't you have been safer in Kakariko with your daughter? No one would have begrudged you if you had left."

"The greatest accusations come from one's own heart. I could not leave, just as you could not stay away." His thick, sensual lips stretched into a smile. "The greatest deed is service to others."

"Remind me to have you knighted," Zelda quipped. "This court doesn't deserve a man of your quality, and this is the last time I undervalue you."

If only Ganondorf Dragmire had had the sense the gods gave Renado Shaman, she mused. Perhaps they might have been fast friends.

She watched as a purple field began to stretch from beacon to beacon around the Citadel, engulfing it in a strong energetic barrier. From this point on, there would be no exiting the field, or allowing anyone in. She hoped Link and his companions were safely away.

Out of the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Nabooru, her hands on the glass, her anguish plain in her eyes.

"Renado, please excuse me."

He nodded as she stepped away and joined Nabooru's side. Through the barrier, the sunset looked deeper red and pink than it truly was. In that light, the Guardian armada was crimson, the bright light bouncing on the fuselages in blinding stains.

"I should have gone out before it was too late," she whispered harshly as Zelda approached.

"I'm sorry." Zelda had a million words she would have wanted to say, but none of them seemed right.

"No, it's my fault. I had no idea what I was doing. You have trusted me beyond all hope. I could not abuse that. To be honest, my motivations are entirely selfish."

"Selfish how?" Better not let her see her surprise. Zelda was practicing being regal again, and it started with the mastery of her emotions.

"These memories… I just… I lose the ones I give you, but my own don't really take their place. It's just a jumble of images. I want the insight you all got, and I want to understand what my real power is. I mean, 'Spirit'? What use is spirit when you have fire and ice and time on your side?"

"I think you gave us all something far more precious," Zelda said.

Nabooru glanced her way, her golden eyes veiled with suspicion. "What's that?"

"Courage."

Nabooru laughed out loud, drawing curious looks from around the command center. Then, with a smile, she said, "I'm fairly sure the courage is none of my doing."

Zelda blinked. "What do you mean?"

Nabooru sobered up, and examined her critically. "Perhaps I'm wrong," she started, "but I thought you drew your courage from _him_."

She didn't have to say who _he_ was. Zelda felt it wrenching in her gut.

She sighed. "You're probably right."

"You let him go on that stupid errand. Why?" Even with Zelda's effort to become regal again, Nabooru's blunt honesty was comforting.

Zelda shrugged. "There will always be a part of me that holds on to the hope that he really is the Hero born anew and that he will arrive in the nick of time to save us all."

Because she was naive and stupid.

Both their gazes found the horizon, with its blinding armada of Guardian ships. Nabooru pursed her lips.

"Do you at least have a plan B?" She asked, lightly. It made Zelda laugh.

"Of course. I'm not daft." She glanced over her shoulder at the army operators. "But the truth is, I'm not sure I have it in me to go through with an actual war."

"You have so far."

"This battle feels very final, doesn't it, though?" Zelda searched Nabooru's face for confirmation. The pretty pilot said nothing, and that was answer enough. Zelda nodded. "I thought so. To be perfectly honest, I'm not sure how either of our skills will be useful. I'm hoping Darunia will go all out."

As the Guardian ships got into their positions, covering the surface of the shields in anticipation of the attack signal, Nabooru sighed. "I wish Ruto had come with me. She might have frozen them."

Zelda did not reply. A part of her still struggled to believe that she was so helpless.

Maybe if I hadn't left for Waker, she berated herself, I could have prevented this.

"If you hadn't left for Waker, you'd never have met him."

Zelda's head turned so fast her neck hurt.

Nabooru's own expression changed as she looked back, the dawning realization hitting her with the same shock as it had Zelda.

"You… _spoke_ to me," Nabooru spluttered. "With your _brain_."

"You _heard_ me," Zelda replied, with the same confusion.

"Is that part of your powers?" Nabooru asked, her eyes betraying morbid curiosity.

"I don't know. I don't seem to recall…" But she did recall. "Oh, skies, I think telepathy _is_ something I just… do. But this is the first time I've seen it manifest."

"Not the first time," Nabooru smiled, her beautiful face stretching into a grin. "The first time, you called me _entera_. I thought I was hallucinating."

In Waker. Zelda vaguely recalled that. "I thought you heard me because of… spirit." She vaguely waved at Nabooru's head. She was having a hard time formulating her thoughts now that they felt exposed for all to overhear.

Nabooru smiled. Pensively, she watched the Guardian ships finish positioning themselves. "Well, I don't think I have any gift like that. I'm told I'm easy enough to read as is."

As Zelda watched, Nabooru's expression darkened until it looked sad and pained. Outside the shields, the Guardian armada was poised.

"I wish Vaati were here. He's the one who found out about… me, I guess."

Before Zelda could reply, the whole of command was suddenly drowned in the sound of static coming from the intercoms. She turned, and saw Auru Mages beckoning her forward urgently. As she stepped among the soldiers, she heard the speakers crackle, and a dreaded voice speak.

'_Let she who is without hope surrender.'_

It was almost a taunt, and from the pale look on Nabooru's face, Zelda had no doubt Ganondorf Dragmire would easily resort to it.

Forcing herself to retain her composure, Zelda nodded for Auru to allow an outgoing message. For the benefit of all the soldiers there, she straightened and hardened her glare. There was no telling which of the airships outside was transmitting the Admiral's voice. No surgical strike would be possible with the shields up, anyway.

"Ganondorf Dragmire," she said. "You'll be sad to hear that your presence in Hyrule is unwelcome."

There was a low, rumbling laugh on the air. _'I have my Hyrulian passport, in good and due form.'_

Zelda tried not to scowl angrily. "As the issuing authority, I'm sorry to say we had it revoked some time ago. Perhaps if you came into the city, alone and unarmed, we might talk about renewing it."

He tisked chidingly. _'Come now, Princess Zelda. You seem to have misunderstood your current position. You are under siege by an army much more powerful than yours, and you are now holed up in your last bastion. I could simply pillage and destroy the rest of Hyrule while you wither away behind your carapace.'_

"Or you could surrender."

The laugh on the air was now boisterous and insulting. At length, Ganondorf's tone hardened. _'I'm willing to give you one hour to put your business in order, after which I expect complete and total surrender of your throne, realm and assets.'_

_Pri enter ih septe_, Zelda repeated to herself. One sibling in seven. One Sage among seven. Across the room, Nabooru's gold eyes shone with familiarity at the Old Hylian in Zelda's mind.

"With all due respect," she said, and tried not to smile as the soldiers around her snickered nervously at her sarcastic tone, "you made yourself my business, and I may need more than one hour to sort you out."

'_This is your last chance for surrender.'_ The tone in Ganondorf Dragmire's voice brokered no arguing. Zelda was fuming, and eager to disappoint him.

"We will never surrender."

There were some cheers at that, but all Zelda could truly hear was the noisy silence on the line. She could almost hear Ganondorf Dragmire thinking.

Then, finally, he broke the silence and said, _'History will forget your defiance, but not my victory. Have your defiance then.'_

And the line cut.

And before Zelda could open her mouth to speak to Auru, the Guardian airships opened fire. She had not expected his retaliation to be so sudden. From the safety of the Citadel, she could see the fired shots explode against the shields in eerie silence. Nothing in the command centre moved, everyone as stunned to see the offensive break against the shields with nary a sound or a vibration.

But for every shot the shields absorbed, the Citadel's energetic resources dwindled.

A quick glance at the monitors revealed that with the rate of fire Ganondorf Dragmire had adopted, they truly only had about one hour of shields to go.

He calculated well, she mused.

Then, out loud, she said, "Well, no time to dally. Admiral Mages, please ensure all our defences are manned and well supplied."

Auru Mages nodded and began shouting orders. The command centre, which had until then been almost stunned into stillness, exploded with motion. Zelda watched the monitors and the windows alternately, feeling her gut clench in sickening anguish.

But then, something caught her eye. She stepped forward, towards the window, her eye on something green she couldn't quite discern.

It was a leaf. It was peaking into the window's upper corner, vibrant and alive, apparently undaunted by the staggering height at which its seed had chosen to take root. She watched it rustle in the wind outside, stunned.

"Oh, sands," Nabooru said, in a tone that truly confused Zelda, for its breathlessness. She glanced at the Gerudo beauty, and saw that Nabooru was looking down at the window's lower edge.

There was a whole row of plants growing there, against all odds, despite the extreme height and the nature of the Citadel.

They hadn't been there only a few minutes ago.

As Zelda leaned forward to try to see better, something became clear: the plants were slowly covering the whole building. And they were still growing. As she watched, they massed all around the window, their vibrant green completely at odds with the white starkness of the Citadel and its purple shields.

"What's going on?" Zelda asked, echoing the rising questions from soldiers all around her.

Nabooru's eyes weren't on the plants, though. She was staring further away.

As Zelda watched, the whole of Castleton slowly bloomed into a verdant forest, its streets covering with grass, the previously sickly trees growing to unprecedented heights. The whole city seemed to groan as the wood cracked in growth, the leaves hungry for light, the polluted soil sustaining more than Zelda had deemed possible. Before her eyes, the trees grew high, proud. Some were straight, defying anyone to claim they had only just been a single acorn. Others, old and twisted, contoured the buildings, found every nook of sunlight, and below the Citadel, the canopy grew until she barely recognized the largest avenues, until everything seemed green and alive.

"Saria."

The name escaped her lips before she could fully formulate the thought. As if in response, the plants on the Citadel's window began to bloom with pale white blossoms.

The Guardian airships had ceased fire. Their confusion had undoubtedly been even greater than her own.

The leaves rustled. Nabooru caught her eye, and, in an unspoken accord, they hurried towards the sky port.

Rauru Luz was already ahead of them. He was walking briskly, but not as quickly as Darunia. Something had stirred them all now, and they headed to the nearest exit, hearts full of anticipation. Zelda found herself running. She wondered if the rush was worth it, but some part of her had suddenly found hope, and she would indulge it while she could.

The doors sighed open, and the wind whipped them harshly. Without the sunlight filters that naturally coated the Citadel's windows, the light out here, even with the force shields, was blinding. It slanted, orange and warm as fire in the cold air, on all their faces. The sky port was entirely covered in grass, which was somewhat unsettling.

The next thing she knew, Nabooru was running ahead of her, and Zelda watched as she jumped to the neck of a young man who ―if that was at all possible― reminded her of the old depictions of a Sheikah. He was red-eyed, fine-featured, and his hair was so pale it was almost white. He wore odd clothes and radiated strength she had trouble to understand.

If anything, the man looked surprised by Nabooru's sudden embrace. She was smiling broadly, golden eyes bright.

Next to them, standing in silence, Zelda recognized Saria.

She was still a child in stature, but she was a wild thing, the incarnation of all the ferocity, nurturing and grace of animals, the steadiness and wisdom of trees, the flexibility and freshness of reeds. Zelda approached her cautiously, and allowed Saria to examine her in return.

"_Entera_," Saria greeted, her voice low and gentle.

"You never slept," Zelda said. No Sage incarnated their element more fully than she did; she must have been awakened for a long time, perhaps always.

"I never died," Saria said, in the soft, rolling tones of Old Hylian. There was no lie there, just simple fact. Zelda thought she should be upset by that revelation, but could not summon the fear.

"Zelda," Nabooru said. "Your grace. I'd like to introduce Vaati, the Wind Wanderer."

Zelda's eyes met the young man's. "How did you get into the city?"

"The old Songs," Saria replied. "The Prelude."

The jolt of remembrance was almost painful. Zelda flexed her fingers, almost feeling the harp strings pull under her finger pads, scratching delightfully at the skin. She could almost remember the music that harp would make, and the accompanying notes of an ocarina.

Link. Skies, she missed him with such acute longing her heart clenched.

"Isn't Ruto with you?" Nabooru asked.

Vaati shook his head. "She assured me she would not miss this fight, but I do not know more. We bring reinforcements, if you will have them." His red eyes met Zelda's with an intensity she found truly unsettling.

"We could always use help," Zelda said. "I'm afraid my own Sage powers are not what they should be."

Vaati's brow furrowed, but he said nothing. Saria took her hand and squeezed, the corners of her eyes crinkling in sympathy. Her skin was parchment soft, but she was still young. Lines and wrinkles covered her face, giving her the look of a young crone.

"I bring the Kokiri, and the Subrosians," she said.

Darunia's brows shot up. Before he could scoff, Rauru frowned. "The Subrosians don't exist."

Nabooru smiled, and Vaati's eyes shone with humour.

Saria's gaze was truly predatory and threatening when she looked at the Sages of Light and Fire. Then, after a moment, she said, "Good. If we were forgotten, this should come as a surprise."

As she spoke, a tree uprooted itself and large vines seized a medium-sized airship, and Zelda watched, jaw agape, eyes wide, as the airship's hovercrafts came to a stop and the tree dragged it down. It was difficult to see from afar, but small cloaked figures in black and green were assailing it.

"Are those _slingshots_?" Rauru asked, his tone indignant. "Those soldiers have guns!"

Saria smiled a secretive smile. "We have been practicing much, much longer."

It seemed impossible to believe. Zelda raced to the far edge of the skyport, in an effort to get a better view. It didn't help much, but from what she could tell, the occupants of the airship Saria had brought down were actually surrendering. Since it was all beyond the shields, there was no telling what was really going on. Everything was silent beyond.

But as she watched, more vines started to capture another airship. As though of common accord, most of the Guardian armada rose further away from the ground, in an effort to avoid the deadly traction. While some got away, many still were captured wholly or in part. Zelda watched as the enemy soldiers hacked at the vines, trying to free their ships.

The amount of Forest magic required was staggering. Zelda turned to Saria.

The Child of the Forest had barely broken a sweat. She was focusing intently on the battle, to be sure, but she didn't even look a little dizzy.

"How do you do that?" Zelda asked. "Could you teach me?"

"Equivalent exchange," Saria said, her concentration still complete. "I simply have a lot to give."

What sort of sustained sacrifice could she possibly be making―

Saria's gaze broke away from the Guardian army and met hers sharply. "It is easy to give years of your life when you are immortal. There is no trickery here. I am experienced, which makes using Magic efficient, but I am giving away hundreds of hours of my life as we speak."

"But you'll die!" Darunia exclaimed, indignant. "Stop!"

Saria eyed him with a small smile. "We must all die one day, and I have outlived you many times over." Then, in a faulty modern Hylian, she said, "I can be born again."

Nabooru shifted uncomfortably. "I'm not sure I can do that."

Saria replied in Old Hylian again. "You do not need to. The goddesses watch over us. The cycle will always continue."

Zelda looked at them in turn. She saw the Guardian ships fighting the armies of diminutive people and felt helpless. "You mean that it will never end."

"Or, perhaps," Rauru said, gently, "that there will always be an end."

"And a beginning," Saria smiled, her cheeks lined with aeons of smiles. "Hope is what you need, _entera_. It was always your strength. Come, we stand united."

"We're missing Impa, the Sage of Shadow," Nabooru corrected her. "I don't know where she is."

Neither Saria nor Vaati looked cheered by that news, but they didn't seem entirely upset for the moment.

Vaati shook his head, and looked at each of them in turn. "It does not matter now."

"We need all seven, don't we?" Zelda asked, heart thumping.

Saria nodded grimly, but still crushed a platoon of the enemy with a massive trunk, somewhere over her shoulder, with nothing more than a flick of her wrist. "It does not matter. For now. Right now, we fight."

Zelda nodded, her heart in her throat. "Yes."

She took Nabooru's hand, and Rauru's, and Rauru took Darunia's hand, and Saria seized Nabooru's and Darunia's, and they stood in an incomplete circle, missing Shadow and Water, but Zelda felt better for it nonetheless.

We stand united, she thought.

And in that instant, she had a glimpse of what destiny was.

* * *

><p><strong>SO IT BEGINS.<strong>

**I want to take an extra minute to say thank you, by the way, for sticking with me so far. You're a fantastic readerbase.**

**Hang in there for the next chapter, which I'll probably post on Monday.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	49. 3-14 - The Spider

**Whoa, whoa, guys, I totally didn't forget to post.**

**This chapter is a pet favourite of mine, but only because I love Midna.**

**Enjoy!**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 14: THE SPIDER**

* * *

><p><em>5<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, West Hyrule Plains<br>Twili flagship the Mirror_

"If someone had told me only just last week," Impa Shades was muttering, her sharp features contorted into a funny scowl, "that I would be standing side by side with the Twili army today, I would have sent that someone to the whipping post."

She was standing on the deck of Midna's flagship, her pristine Hylian Alliance uniform contrasting with the amended Guardian uniforms of Midna's army. For practical purposes, they had not taken the time to re-dye any of Midna's people's uniforms, but she had requested that they tear off all badges and insignias marking their alignment. It would have to do.

As Midna watched, Impa Shades turned to her, her profile severe and intimidating. If Midna hadn't been beyond caring, she might have made a comment about that.

"We should not have taken so much time to consolidate our troops," she said.

"Your men needed to be fed and to get some sleep," Midna said. "It's no use fighting on an empty stomach, or with your focus shot."

Impa did not reply. She turned back to look outside. They were approaching Castleton, and it was obvious the battle was already underway, even if they couldn't yet see the city. The sky to the east was bright with fire and explosions. Even from afar, the sound was enough to rumble in your stomach.

"We may be too late to turn the tide," Impa said.

They both turned to look at Onox Gorgon, who was gagged and bound on the deck. Impa had wanted to execute him at once, but Midna had argued in favour of keeping him as a token of good faith when they rejoined the Hylian Alliance.

"You can kill him if we lose," Midna said. "But it's no use acting defeated until we know there isn't another way."

Onox shot them both evil looks, but could do no more than that. It was almost enough to cheer Midna up. Almost.

"We need to flank them," Impa was saying. "If they're assaulting the city from all sides, we should at least drive a wedge into one of the sides so that we can ensure a bridge of resources and supplies."

"No problem," Midna said, absently. "But I have my own business to take care of. I'll probably let you handle my men until further notice."

If further notice ever came.

"It is a stupid idea," Impa Shades said, scowling. She had a wide mouth, and it was pressed into a thin line. "No matter how good your golem is."

"My golem, my decision," Midna said, flippantly. "Besides, nobody asked you what you think. You're an air commander, so do your job."

It was an effective way to remind the commander that she was still the ruler of Twilight, and hierarchically superior, but it was petty, and they both knew it. Impa rolled her eyes, but said nothing.

"You know, you remind me of a Sheikah," Midna continued, smiling impishly. When she talked, it made the pain stop for a moment.

Impa looked at her with a deeper scowl.

"That's the crazy thing, you know," Midna continued, ignoring Impa's foul mood. "Technically I should remind you of a Sheikah. They're my ancestors. Distant ancestors," she added. "But you… Where are you from?"

"Kakariko," Impa bit out, to the amusement of several of the ensigns operating the airship around them.

Midna nodded. "That's great. Really."

"If it's quite alright," Impa finally said, curtly, "I will rejoin my ship and begin battle preparations."

Midna nodded again. "Be my guest."

It was probably for the best. Midna motioned for a soldier to take Onox Gorgon away into a guarded cell. She then called her generals and appointed Impa as their primary command.

Then, she left the command deck.

She thought of going to see Dark, but the thought of the excruciating pain she was going to suffer at the sight of him made her steer clear. He was beginning to rot, and she wasn't sure how to stop it.

It would require Time Magic, and that… well, Time did not come to her naturally the way Shadow and Fire did. It was too late anyway, and far more costly than even her most powerful Shadow uses. Lately, her use of Fire was far better than Shadow, almost supernatural in its ease, and it had been for the past few days. Something was happening to the Magic of the world, something that was stirring it from its unused depths. It had made Dark into a proficient user of Water even without experience.

But Shadow… well, Shadow was still dormant, from what she could tell.

Instead of going in to see Dark, although she contemplated the door for a few minutes in tortured guilt, she went to complete the final adjustments on Armogohma.

It responded very well to her movements, all in all, and was a lot quicker than its bulk suggested. With the Sol powering it, the golem truly was the terrifying weapon her ancestors had described.

"Engineer Shadowsand," Midna greeted. A part of her still struggled against the thought of trading his life for Dark's, but she was mastering it little by little. "Have you checked leg number five?"

"We did, your grace," Geant Shadowsand said, bowing slightly. "Nothing a new ball-bearing articulation and some sand clearing couldn't do."

"Good," Midna said, trying to meet his eyes and failing. "Let's get back into practice."

"Will you be requiring it for battle tonight, your grace?"

The engineers were silent. Midna set her jaw. "Yes. Please complete the final adjustments during this session."

That set them moving at a grim pace. By the time they completed the exercises and value settings, night was fully upon them. It was exactly the timing Midna wished for. She wouldn't have enough energy to cloak herself entirely in Shadow, but at least the night would do its part.

Armogohma would definitely come as a surprise to any ground infantry.

Impa Shades sent her the message that they were ready to engage. After that, it was only a matter of getting the golem on the ground.

As Midna waited for the engineers to bring Gohma down, she crested the hill to get a better look at Castleton.

Nothing could have prepared her for the sight. The shields had failed sometime during the day, no doubt, but plant life had taken their place. She watched as Guardian airships fought off vines and children with slingshots, or tried not to burn to the ground from a blaze so great it seemed to have a life of its own. Some airships were immobilized and kept at a distance because they were blinded by a light of which she could not pinpoint the origin.

But the battle was young, and the Guardian armada was overwhelmingly numerous. Despite severe losses, it was still making good progress over the city.

It was time to act.

"Engineer Shadowsand, have you done as I asked?"

The chief engineer looked a little sick. "Yes, your grace. We put his body in the back. But," here, he looked distinctly uncomfortable, "perhaps you should leave his corpse in a safe place, your grace. The smell… Perhaps it will importune you."

That is what I want, Midna thought. To be always aware of Dark's sacrifice, so I won't back down.

"I'll be fine," she said, dismissively.

He nodded. "In that case," he said, "here is your headset, for communicating with Commander Shades."

Midna took it gingerly from his hands, ignoring the urge to take what wasn't hers to take. Geant Shadowsand looked oddly relieved when he stepped back, and Midna felt guilt rushing through her like a hot burning pulse.

"Thank you, Engineer," she bit out, her throat tight. "You… you have served your country well today. You all did," she added, for the rest of the team.

He looked puzzled, but nodded graciously, his bow curt and respectful.

It would have to do, Midna figured.

Avoiding the confused gazes shot her way, she put on the headset and climbed into Armogohma.

Instantly, the rotting smell of Dark's corpse assailed her. He was grotesque, squeezed in the back, his body more bloated than it had been when he had died. Midna pushed down the panic that surged inside her. He was looking less and less like the Dark she had known, and more and more like a monster, his grey skin pulled taut.

She whispered, "I'll join you soon, and I'll make it worth our while." Then, she pressed on the button by her ear, and activated the headset.

The rush of voices coming from command overwhelmed her, until she finally singled out Impa Shades' voice.

She lifted a thumb to the engineers to indicate she was ready to go, and closed the hatch of the golem over herself. The smell of rot was almost overwhelming now, and her vision swam, her senses taken over. But it was no use focusing on the smell. She had a purpose.

She applied her hand to the control panel before her, and the Sol inside began to feed the circuitry. Armogohma tensed familiarly around her, its eight legs finding solid ground and pushing her up in one steady lurch. It was a fast-moving golem, no doubt about it, but Midna had not yet had the opportunity to fully test that part of its capacities. The confines of the ship had not allowed it.

Armogohma looked delicate from the outside, but from within, Midna felt like she was fully armored. She could see out a wide cupola of orange glass, which looked like the single eye of the monster, and through willpower and body motion, she could control every movement the golem made. It was a precise operation, but it came instinctively by now.

"Shades," she called, as imperiously as she could.

"Your highness?" The sarcasm in Impa Shades' voice was almost tangible. Midna wanted to roll her eyes. Well, she had a point.

"I'm going out first. Let me get the hard blows in before sending your men. I might be enough to break the enemy on the ground and make them easy pickings."

"I was hoping for it," Impa said, her voice noncommittal now. Midna would have liked to think they might have been friends in another life, with different stations. As it stood, Impa was simply doing her job, and Midna hoped she would come through when Armogohma failed.

And Armogohma would undoubtedly fail. She just hoped to buy time for the Hylian Alliance.

"Give my regards to the princess for me."

"Do it yourself," Impa challenged. "We'll race you there."

Midna didn't respond. She throttled the golem's power source. Armogohma lurched forward. In ten minutes, she would be in the melee.

It was strange to consider what happened next, because Midna genuinely believed she had seen everything, but at that moment, something happened she had not expected.

It started to snow.

* * *

><p><strong>Flashback! When I first plotted out this story, the story's climax wasn't going to be a massive multi-party battle. I don't recall what the exact plan was, let alone the logic of it (it <em>has<em> been some 5-6 years since then), but I wanted a medium length story where Link and company were challenged to a race where they'd win a Sol, and something something happy ending. Dark and Midna weren't even part of the story. Even Ganondorf wasn't going to play a massive role. I just wanted Link to fly, you know?**

**Now the only allusions to that original plot that remain are the memories Link and Sheik have of training to fly by participating in races in Waker, most notably against Groose, who was a minor, recent addition. Groose wasn't a part of the story back when I first plotted the story. Remember, this was back when _Twilight Princess_ had only just come out.**

**In that first story, I don't recall that Zelda's throne was in jeopardy, or that there was even a war. And because I planned this story back in 2007/2008, I didn't assume that I would take so long to write it that a whole new _Zelda_ game would even come out in the meantime. That's why you won't find the narrative mechanics that characters like Fi and Hylia represented in _Skyward Sword _in here. I know some might have been disappointed by that, but consider that the greater half of _Fighting Gravity_ was already written by the time_ Skyward Sword_ came out. I couldn't afford the time or the energy of a huge rewrite. I was already on such a massive hiatus and delay that it seemed counterproductive to the story I now wanted to tell.**

**At any rate, I think _Fighting Gravity_ became so much bigger than I had planned, at least in terms of narrative structure. I never planned for the story to be several dozens of chapters in length. I thought that _Only in Hyrule_ would be the longest _Zelda_ fanfic I'd ever write. Looking back, though, I don't think that I could have told the story of _Fighting Gravity_ with more brevity without losing some core character development. So I guess it just had to happen like this.**

**So if you're still reading FG, and I hope you are, hang in there with me. It's been a long time coming, but I'm extremely pleased with the outcome, and I have faith that you will too.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	50. 3-15 - The Losing Side

**Not gonna lie, I almost forgot to post. At worst it might have waited until morning, but I love you guys, so here we are!**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 15: THE LOSING SIDE**

* * *

><p><em>5<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Hyrule Plains<br>Southern gate of Castleton_

Saria looked up.

It was the first thing Zelda noticed. She stood, with Nabooru and Rauru, on one of the shields' towers, looking down at the raging battle from the protection of a standard anti-air shield. Saria, Vaati and Darunia were down in the streets, and from Zelda's relative vantage point, they were only visible by the blaze of Darunia's flames.

She glanced at Nabooru, who, as the partially dormant Sage of Spirit, was effectively useless without having awakened the Sage of Shadow, as she stood by Rauru's side, covering him with blankets as he expended what little energy he could to blind enemy airships overhead.

Nabooru had not noticed.

The weather was growing steadily colder as the night wore on. It occurred to Zelda that her breath was visible coming out of her mouth. It was unseasonably cold, really, for late spring, and something about that felt deeply unsettling.

But then, Saria's upward glance explained itself. How she had noticed when Zelda herself had not was a testament to the general exhaustion the princess felt.

It was snowing.

In that moment, Zelda felt tired. It was another blow to an admittedly desperate defence. The last thing they needed was for her men to grow weak in their posts, to shiver themselves into a slow reaction time. And she had bought them all the Time she could already.

As she shivered, the cold seeping in further with every burning sting of melting snowflakes, Nabooru put a blanket around her shoulders.

The gentle act was surprising because Nabooru had otherwise been busy doing her utmost to keep Rauru warm. His own skills were somewhat more powerful than either her own or Zelda's. He did not have the ease of Saria's long experience, or the strength of Darunia's youth, but he was wilful and the Light came to him easier than Time or Spirit wanted to.

As Zelda met Nabooru's darkly-circled eyes, she forced herself to smile. Together they looked down at Vaati, Darunia and Saria's fervent fighting. They fought to protect the gate barricade, and where Darunia was brunt and forceful, Saria was quick and lethal. Darunia was slowly learning to make burst-uses of Fire to strengthen his battle skills the way Saria was using vines to entangle and hold her targets. As for Vaati, he was simply swift and efficient, his artful sword strokes and occasional duplications saving him more than once.

Saria and her Kokiri left very little to come through. They were young and lithe and agile, more feline in their speed and skill than children were supposed to be. They moved with feral grace and struck without hesitation. They dealt death with an ease that deeply unsettled Zelda.

She hated war. Deep down what the Kokiri were doing so aptly was wrong, and she saw it on their tear-stained faces. These people were used to killing animals swiftly and painlessly to survive, not to fight in a political struggle. Zelda wondered how Saria and Vaati had convinced them to agree to a fight in the first place.

Part of her suspected it had to do with the Hyrulian cycles she did not yet fully grasp, but Saria had been tight-lipped so far.

As for Darunia, Zelda watched as a flame bloomed from his fist, crashing into the pavement of the street, knocking back an enemy wave of soldiers. Some Guardian soldiers were no older than teenagers, and their clothing burned as well as sweat-soaked fabric could: slowly. They were screaming in agony. It ached at Zelda's heart.

She watched as Gorons and Hylians and Kokiri, and even the odd Subrosian attacked the enemy, holding off its advance, the snow beginning to fall more steadily.

"We're going to have to retreat soon," Nabooru said, her concern for Rauru evident.

Zelda hated to agree, but it was probably for the best. She had requested that outlying civilians be evacuated to the Citadel's basements, in the hopes that it would prevent an outright massacre should they inevitably have to relent the outskirts of the city.

It was too much to hope that it would stay this easy.

The first thing they heard was a rumble. In the loud battle, it could have easily been ignored. But Zelda felt it in her gut, and it was ominous enough to merit a glance on the other side of the barricade.

"Oh, skies," she breathed, which was enough to draw Nabooru and Rauru's attentions. The Sage of Spirit came to look.

"Sands," she bit out, squinting against the increasing snowfall and winds. "I can't see a thing."

"It's some sort of battering ram," Zelda said, her throat tight.

But it was moving a lot faster than a battering ram rightly had to.

Enemy Flits zipped by overhead, and Nabooru forced her to duck. By the time they stood again, the battering ram was much closer to the gate, and Nabooru gasped.

"_Goht_," she said, softly, but the word was enough to instill dread.

"Move," Rauru grunted, pushing the two women aside, as he beamed Light at the charging golem, whose whole body was covered in runes and glowing circuits. It did not slow, though Zelda had no doubt that it was quite blinded.

"Saria!" She called out, leaning over the edge. "Saria! The barricade!"

The din of battle was too loud. The Sage of Forest was engrossed in her flurry of kills. Zelda looked over her shoulder at Rauru, who was weakening. The stream of Light he was casting was dimming. Nabooru shot her a wide-eyed stare that spelled growing panic. Zelda didn't have to ask why.

"_Saria_!" She shouted, her voice lost on the snowy winds.

Oh, blast it. _Saria!_

As though shocked into stillness, the young Sage of Forest stopped mid-leap and rolled into a guarding position, and her sharp animal eyes flew up to Zelda's overlook, confusion evident.

Zelda motioned wildly to the barricade. _The golem is coming_! She was mouthing the words, but shouting them with her mind. As Saria attempted to collect herself, Vaati crouched beside her. Zelda watched them exchange a few words. Then, his face shifting into a frown, Vaati stood and sounded the retreat. Saria, however, rushed to her feet and darted to the barricade. She was quick and nimble-footed, and Zelda watched the little girl climb to the top of the barricade, looking small and vulnerable as she moved against the stream of retreating soldiers.

Without hesitation, the Sage of Forest commanded trees and vines. They grew despite the cold, and flowered, and formed a steadier barricade now, trapping some soldiers with their roots. Zelda turned to look at Nabooru, who stared white-faced at the oncoming threat.

Saria called upon a wall of vines to ensnare the golem. As Goht charged, it tripped on a few snaking vines, but tore through them. More and more vines grew and attacked, and they were slowing the golem somewhat, but something was glowing under the metal plates.

"The Sol is stronger than this," Nabooru said softly.

As she spoke, the vines, which had slowed the golem almost to a stop, began to snap one by one. With difficulty, Goht began to regain momentum, the vines snapping more and more.

"Saria! Run!"

This time, Saria heard her. The Sage of Forest began to make her way down from the barricade, her progress slowed by the unsteady structure and the slippery stones. The snow was starting to pile on surfaces, making the descent treacherous.

Goht lurched forward, the last broken vines still trapped on its front plates, and barreled forward. Saria was still on the barricade.

"Saria!"

Zelda's agonized cry was lost on the wind, but it ripped at her lungs.

Goht broke through the barricade, splinters of wood and furniture and the weight of bags of sand exploding around it like water. Saria was flung through the air, limp as a doll, and landed brokenly some hundred feet further down the street. From Zelda's vantage point, there was no telling if she was dead, knocked out or simply stunned. Nabooru let out a choked sound.

"He's going to crush her!"

Goht showed no sign of stopping. Its hooves pounded the pavement as it moved past them towards Saria.

"_No_!" Zelda lunged forward, though she wasn't sure how it would help.

Nabooru grabbed her arm, eyes wide. The frigid winds whipped at their hair, making their lips blue.

Goht was slowing down. It was growing steadily slower, its hooves missing a few steps. The pavement seemed icy now, the snow and arctic wind pounding against the golem in a way that did not seem natural.

It was blowing Goht away from Saria.

As they watched, Goht slowed almost to a halt, and ice began to creep around its massive mechanical shell. The unnatural ice seemed to grow with a mind of its own, paralyzing the joints and motor.

Until, at last, Goht came to a complete stop.

Zelda leaped down from their observation post. Guardian Coalition soldiers were streaming through the breach in the barricade, but Hylian Alliance men and women were holding them back as well as they could. Behind the line, Goht was encased in a solid block of ice. Vaati, far ahead, was gathering Saria in his arms, picking her limp form up to carry it out of harm's way.

Zelda was vaguely aware that Nabooru was on her heels, but she didn't listen to her words of warning. Saria was hurt. One of her own. Whoever was driving the golem would pay―

She collided with a Zora head on.

As she fell to the icy ground, Zelda became aware that she had been so focused on Saria, she hadn't taken care to look where she was going.

So when Ruto Watters held out a hand to help her to her feet, the surprise was complete.

"_Ruto_?"

The Lady of Zora's Domain made a funny face. "Well, who else would have frozen that thing up like that?"

Zelda accepted her help, and was pulled to her feet. "That was you?"

The Sage of Water looked flushed, for a Zora. She had evidently expended a great deal of energy. "I've been preparing that one since I left Calatia. I'm sorry for the terrible weather. I had to encourage the storm to make the job easier. When I saw him arming Goht, I…" She shook her head and trailed off.

"I think you saved Saria's life," Zelda breathed.

"I hope." Ruto's expression was grim.

"We need to get you all out of the street," Nabooru firmly broke in. "This is a dangerous place for you. Come!"

She grabbed their hands, and began to pull them towards the Citadel.

"What about Rauru?" Zelda asked, breathless, as she looked over her shoulder.

"He's fine," Nabooru called over the wind. "The Subrosians―"

A resounding crack startled them all.

Goht had freed itself. It was shaking off the ice, which fell in sheets to the pavement, and stomping. Angrily.

"Oh, seas," Ruto exhaled, just as Nabooru bit out a mournful, "Sands," and Zelda blurted, "Skies!"

'Zelda Harkinian.'

It was the voice of anger. It came from Goht's throat. And Zelda found, to her horror, that she knew exactly who was mercilessly piloting the golem.

"Ganondorf," she cursed, releasing her arm from Nabooru's grasp. She stepped out to look at the Admiral's machine head on.

'I am pleased to see you are on the front lines,' the Admiral said, almost conversationally. In the tin tones of the golem, his voice sounded alien. 'It will make my task easier.'

"Zelda…" Nabooru started, reaching for her clothes, anxiety in her voice.

'Nabooru Spirit,' Ganondorf Dragmire continued, his voice cold and mechanical. 'I see you have betrayed our cause. I have rarely been so disappointed.'

Next to her, Nabooru groaned in pain and reached up to her forehead, eyes shut in agony. Her golden eyes, when they reopened, were unfocused, and it was plain Nabooru was _elsewhere_. That did not bode well.

"Leave her alone," Zelda cried out, stepping between the massive golem and Nabooru. "She did what she believed in."

'Did she?' The low tone of that question was evidently meant to unsettle Zelda, and she refused to let it.

"Give up, Ganondorf. No one will yield to you tonight!"

It was a puerile effort. They stood, unshielded, helpless, before an endlessly powerful golem piloted by a power-hungry man. When he laughed, the sound was raucous and unrestrained.

'You have one last chance before I kill you all,' Ganondorf warned, his laughter subsiding. 'Surrender, and I may let you live.'

"No… He's going to have us executed later," Nabooru said, venomously, clearly recovered from her episode, if shaky on her feet.

'Hey!'

That voice, though mechanical, had not been the rumbling, ominous tone of Ganondorf Dragmire. It came from above. Zelda looked up at one of the buildings lining the street.

'Time to pick on someone who can fight back,' the golem said. It was a massive spider, its bulbous eye revealing its pilot.

Zelda wasn't sure her eyes were seeing properly, because in that moment, she was certain that she was looking up at Midna Black of Twilight.

And that Midna Black, in her spider golem, had just lunged at Goht, tackling it to the ground.

And that the two golems were now engaged in melee combat.

* * *

><p><strong>Exciting!<strong>

**Hm? What's that you ask? Where's Link?**

**Who knows, maybe he died offscreen. Maybe he's left the country. Maybe he's sleeping this one out.**

**Love,****CM**


	51. 3-16 - The Dying Princess

**No, this isn't a Link chapter! Oh dear. Where _is_ he?**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 16: THE DYING PRINCESS**

* * *

><p><em>6<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>Southern thoroughfare_

Midna's headset ticked that it was midnight. As the snow blew around them and the ice crushed against their armours, she tackled Goht's hind legs, tripping it.

She hadn't found Zant yet, but that could wait, for now.

Goht thrashed, struggling to release its legs. The unfortunate lack of grip of metal made the task easier than Midna would have liked. She let go, pounding Goht into the ground. Armogohma whined around her, the structure used to rapid surgical strikes rather than burly brawling.

"Get out of here!" She shouted to princess Zelda and her companions. They were stepping away, but not as fast as Midna liked.

_Are you with us?_

The voice startled Midna, and Gohma faltered, and Goht slammed her against the façade of a building.

She turned, pinned between Goht's stubborn head and a stone wall, and shouted, "Of course I am! Ask Impa! Twilight has come to help!"

With her four front legs, which were the only mobile parts she currently had, she pushed against Goht's head, lifting it off her just enough that she could swipe it sideways with Armogohma's hind legs. It slid off her armour and slammed into the wall, which crumbled over its head.

Midna scurried away, checking her golem for any serious damage. Leg seven wasn't responding as precisely as she liked, but it was still mobile. She leapt onto a low roof and poised herself for a new lunge.

Dark's limp arm fell over her shoulder, and Midna shuddered.

'Midna of Twilight,' Ganondorf Dragmire taunted below. 'I was sure we had deposed you.'

"Looks like I was born to disappoint the Guardian Coalition," she said, ignoring Dark's touch. "Where is Zant, by the way? I'd like a word with him."

Ganondorf merely laughed, and Goht stomped its hoof, preparing for a charge. Midna leaped onto its back, struggling to stay on top. Goht bucked, throwing itself into a building to knock her off.

Dizzy, Midna shook herself into focus, and hurried to block his way towards the Citadel.

Goht shook off cement and plaster, and Ganondorf said, 'Move out of my way, worm.'

"No." A quick glance around her indicated that Zelda and her companions had successfully evacuated to the inner holding walls, but she wasn't going to let Goht barrel that one down too.

'They had no problem demonizing you when you were an enemy. Put aside your hate for me, Midna Black,' Ganondorf continued, his voice deep and unsettling. If she didn't know better, he almost sounded tired. 'I can eliminate Zant, and you'll have your kingdom again.'

"_Pyr_," she whispered, and Armogohma opened its fangs and spat a massive fireball. The effort was well-worth Ganondorf's surprise. Goht dodged the fire, which simmered into nothing as it hit the ground.

Now, Ganondorf sounded full of rage. 'Petty bitch.'

He charged. Midna crouched, tripping his front legs, heating his armour with Fire so it glowed hot red, and she smirked when Ganondorf added nothing, probably trying not to panic from the sudden, baking heat.

But Goht rolled itself into fallen snow, and vapour hissed, and the heat disappeared. Midna found she was breathless, the exertion greater than she had anticipated.

Apparently, while golems could channel Magic, they drew the energy for it from their pilots rather than their Sols. That was important to know, and frustrating.

Still, when Goht righted itself and stampeded towards her, it was helpful to use Shadow for a rapid cloak. Goht slammed into a wall, and Midna revealed herself again, unharmed, some distance away.

'I see you had to take your own Sol after all,' Ganondorf Dragmire taunted, his temper carefully reined in. 'I don't suppose your city of Nightfall was very happy about that.'

Dark. Midna's face contorted in hate. "You don't get to talk about that." This Sol had cost her more than anything she had been willing to spend. He was not going to make light of it.

To prove her point, she lunged at Goht's throat, her mandibles and forelegs digging into a plaque of metal, and attempting to pry it off. Goht shook violently from side to side.

"I will kill you," Midna shouted, "you and every Guardian leader! I will end your reign―"

Goht headbutted her to the ground, and she was kicked away, the shock of collision slamming her head against her control panel. She groaned, her forehead bleeding.

'Calm yourself, Midna Black,' Ganondorf condescendingly commanded, Goht coming to stand over her ominously. 'And surrender.'

Instead of surrendering, she scampered between Goht's legs, striking them as she went. Goht buckled forward, but was back on its hooves before she could mount a counterattack.

Goht slammed into her again, and the armour screamed in contortion. A piece of reinforcement popped off and clanked to the ground. Midna's heart was in her throat, stomach in knots.

'Surrender, Midna Black,' Ganondorf Dragmire commanded, his voice low.

Simultaneously, Midna's headset crackled. '_Duck_.'

Going limp, Midna let Armogohma drop to the ground between the building and Goht's massive shape. Goht slammed into the wall, and then was… thrown to the side.

The bright flash of light of an explosion registered only after, and the sound of it deafened Midna. Ears ringing, she followed the smoke trail of the mortar up into the sky, and up to the Citadel's firing defences.

'You're welcome,' Impa said in her ears, her voice muffled by the explosion.

As Midna watched, Goht struggled to rise again, its exploded side seized with arcs of power. It was still fully mobile, but that side's hind leg was weakened. That was good.

"Thank you, Shades."

'Retreat into the city. You don't have the brute strength to fight this one.'

"No," Midna grunted, wiping blood out of her eye. "Someone has to slow him down."

'I see,' Ganondorf Dragmire grunted, 'that we will have to fight this one out to the end.'

Midna wondered if it was that obvious. She snuck a glance at Dark's corpse. He was grey and bloated and smelled terrible. It would be good to join him soon. The thought made her sick to her stomach.

"Let's," she said, pushing Armogohma up on its legs. Rising to strike, the golem's weight on the four hindlegs and her four forelegs erected in challenge, Midna smirked. "I bet you can't kill me."

Goht stamped the ground, and steam came out of its nostrils. It was thick and white in the cold.

'We will see.' There was nothing warm about Ganondorf Dragmire's voice.

Overhead, Guardian airships were moving in towards the Citadel. Impa's mortars were firing at the incoming ships.

Ground defence was up to her and the standing army.

Goht reared, huffed, and began to stampede. Midna braced herself. Armogohma caught Goht head on, sliding on the street despite her best efforts. The metal legs tore up the pavement, but eventually, she was headlocked against Goht. Under its horns, Armogohma's armour screeched.

There was a puncture sound, and one of the horns pierced the golem, hitting Midna in the side. She exhaled sharply, blood drawn.

Goht moved his head to and fro, tearing at her side. Eventually, Armogohma was thrown from its hold, and Midna landed against the window, crying. Her blood gushed, hot and wet, but something made her numb.

The gaping hole in her cockpit made her nervous. She nursed that side, checking the golem for substantial injuries. Goht, for its part, still arced power in short-circuits, but was mostly unhurt. Ganondorf was preparing for another charge.

Midna stared at her impending death and felt it grip her coldly.

She didn't want to die. She wanted to be dead with Dark, but the process, the getting there―

She swallowed her saliva, and ignored the stab of pain in her flank.

"Yeah!" She screamed out, tears falling against her cheeks. She screamed because she needed to hear herself, to believe that it was right, because she didn't want to show fear. She screamed because she wanted it to end quickly. "Come on, tough guy!"

She clacked her fangs, scratched at the ground.

_Fire, help me_, she implored, listening to Ganondorf Dragmire's chuckle. _Feed me_.

Goht charged again. She braced herself, letting the Fire build inside her. He would never know what hit him. He would die in a conflagration so large they would be consumed with it. When the Fire died down, there would be no remains to find, only one mass of molten, twisted metal, and two Sols to help the world move on.

"Come on!" She cried, her voice cracking. She sounded like a little girl. She hated that.

The Fire burst at her finger tips, and at the fangs of Armogohma. This is it. No flinching now. It'll be alright. No more fear, no more pain, no more guilt.

No more despair.

'I gave you your chance. Remember that!'

Midna tensed. Goht was almost upon her.

An explosion rocked the city. Armogohma was flung into the air. For a second, she saw Goht rocket into the pavement in the opposite direction. All the Fire inside Midna fizzled, expelled in a flash that was all spark and little heat. She collapsed in her seat as her golem stopped moving. Dark was leaning against her headrest, his arms outstretched on either side, as though he was unable to hold her..

Midna's breath came in sharp huffs. For a long moment, the ringing in her ears was deafening. Her headset had been knocked off her head, but it didn't matter because she wouldn't have been able to hear anyway. She was dizzy, and unsure of what direction was up.

The ringing began to subside, and with it, her notion of gravity returned, and she realized the reason Dark was reaching out to her was because she was face down, Armogohma upturned. She tried to flail her legs to alter her balance and flip herself right side up, but three of the legs were unresponsive. Through the hole Goht had pierced with its horn, she saw oil drip.

Her breath came hard. From outside herself, she realized panic was seizing her.

She put the headset back on. Maybe she could call for help.

'... waiting for orders. Celestia out.'

Celestia? Midna blinked hard, trying to catch her breath. Her mouth tasted like blood. She must have bitten her tongue at some point. Her whole body ached, and she felt welts forming where her belts had kept her in her seat.

'Standby Celestia. Keep visual contact on the mechanical bull you just blasted.'

Mechanical bull. Where was Goht? Midna tried to lean forward, but everything hurt. She cried out in pain, and then she just cried. The tears came despite herself, while she struggled to stay calm, while she struggled to get her bearings. Every second she was wasting in confusion could spell death.

_I want to be dead_, she was screaming internally, all the while struggling to stay alive, to stay alert. She had to be one step ahead of Ganondorf, or he would kill her.

It took her a moment to realize that the heap of metal outside her window was Goht. It was heavily damaged, massive arcs of light and electricity sparking on its body.

But it was still moving. It was moving as Armogohma no longer could, and getting to its feet.

Midna cursed herself. Gohma had been a precision golem, swift and expedient. Goht was built to withstand severe punishment. It was a tank where she was a dart-thrower.

In this case, Goht would win.

'You have stubborn allies,' Ganondorf Dragmire was saying. He was breathless, but there was no denying the determination in his voice. 'But they have terrible aim.'

Goht was stomping its hooves. He was checking whether his golem was still operable. It probably was. Midna found herself struggling to right herself, despite her suicidal whims.

"Dark…" She gasped. She wanted to join him, but no, not like this, not this way. This was too unfair. This was too painful.

She had no energy left to use Magic, let alone the weak Shadow. She was barely able to stay conscious.

Somewhere overhead, explosions rocked the sky. Whatever this Celestia was, it was causing damage.

The lights flashed against the pavement, against the window, against Goht, against her eyes. She was trapped, and she was in pain, and she was scared.

Goht reared.

Midna turned, crying in pain, and grabbed Dark's clammy, bloated hand. And she closed her eyes.

"I loved you," she whispered, eyes shut tight.

'You what?'

Ganondorf Dragmire's confusion was evident. He had overheard her, because of the headset. Goht had not moved, but it was stomping its hooves in impatience.

He thought she was talking to him.

It would have been comical if the Admiral's voice hadn't been so… empty of contempt. Something like dread filled Midna's gut. Was that it? Was Ganondorf Dragmire looking for―

'Taking aim,' the male voice, whom Midna only identified as Celestia's, announced. 'Brace yourselves.'

A second explosion rocked into Goht, but it was slightly off, and Goht was only pushed back. Armogohma, however, received the shockwave like a blessing. It rocked the metal armature and she found herself tilting sideways. Ears ringing, she managed to push herself right side up.

By now, the street was unrecognizable. It was pockmarked with mortar holes and buildings crumbled around her. Papers were flying around her, mixing with the snow falling.

Ganondorf Dragmire was laughing, a low chuckle she didn't like. 'It's charming, how you try to distract me. I take it you're out of resources.'

She wouldn't give him the satisfaction of saying yes. "Eat dirt."

The world was going dark. Absently, Midna realized that, for her contortions, blood was pouring steadily from her wounds in her side. It wasn't even painful anymore. She wondered if 'eat dirt' were fitting final words.

Goht slammed into her. She was pinned against a building, three of her legs hanging limply from her body. The others, despite her better judgement, were struggling to keep Goht from applying deadly pressure on her.

But Ganondorf Dragmire wasn't aiming to kill her just yet. She could almost see him, behind Goht's glass eyes, smirking cruelly.

'You failed,' he taunted.

It was such a simple phrase, but it echoed her own voices so well, she slapped a hand against her mouth to hold in a sob. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

'When the world remembers today, they won't even remember you,' he continued. 'You had so little consequence, you couldn't even save your people.'

The Fire was back, a small flame inside her heart, and the tears coming from her eyes were hot. That he spoke the truth was only fuelling her even more. The Fire was ready to consume her. It burned with self-loathing and anger.

Fire and Shadow had always been inside her, for as long as she could remember. They were the legacy of desert-dwelling Sheikah, poured and diluted through time, to reach her blood, to reach her life. The Shadow was weak, but the Fire was consuming, and she let it burst.

Almost like spitting in his face, tongues of flame erupted from Armogohma's damaged fangs. They did nothing to Goht. Ganondorf Dragmire laughed.

"You'll never know love," Midna softly said.

Goht slammed even harder against her. The armature bent in front of her, ready to give in. It gave Midna a small sense of victory. There it was: Admiral Dragmire's best hidden wound.

"You don't even have the capacity for it." It didn't matter that it was true or not. It mattered that he believed it. And, from the rage she felt in Goht's movement, he did.

'I heard from Zant that he killed your pet.'

The stab of pain in Midna's heart was so sudden, it was almost physical.

"If you want us to guard the future, we can. It'll be called 'Ganon's Failings'," she snapped back, her golem's legs pushing all the harder.

'I will crush you and your people.' He seemed to mean it, because Armogohma was buckling under his push.

This was it. Better go off with a bang.

"By the time we're done with you, your men will be scraping your innards off the pavement with a toothbrush," she taunted.

But there was a silence, and suddenly Goht froze in position. Midna didn't want to waste her chance, but Armogohma was done responding to her commands. If Goht hadn't been pinning it, it would have crumbled to the ground. Only her mandibles still moved with some energy. Everything else was broken.

So when Goht's head opened, and she came face to face with Ganondorf Dragmire, she wasn't sure what to expect.

The Guardian Admiral lifted his hand, and Midna saw the gun as though from outside herself.

He removed the security on the pistol coldly.

Staring down the barrel of death, Midna found herself with an odd sympathy for Zant Grim.

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><p><strong>But seriously, guys. Where's Link? Everybody else showed up to the party...<strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. Here's a hint: give it another two chapters.**


	52. 3-17 - The Final Sage

**Here's a new chapter, if only to get things moving. I'll probably post the next chapter on Monday. HANG IN THAR  
><strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 17: THE FINAL SAGE**

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><p><em>6<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel, ground floor_

Nabooru jumped off the moving vehicle without waiting to find out whether Saria would regain consciousness. She had not missed the massive flagship's entry into the Citadel airspace. The _Courage_, and its commander, Impa Shades, had broken the blockade from the west.

She wasn't going to let Impa leave the city without introducing herself.

Overhead, the Citadel rang the first quarter after midnight. She had been siding with the Hylian Alliance for less than two weeks, but it was time to act for its ultimate benefit. She hoped.

Zelda called out after her. Nabooru jumped into the elevators. Outside, the battle was raging, uncomfortably close to the Citadel and most of the civilian bunkers.

Celestia's arrival had been a lucky fluke. Zelda's jaw had gaped open at it as the massive hovercrafted city had covered the stars and taken out a Guardian battleship with the element of surprise alone. Its approach had been silent, its lights off, and by the time the Guardian troops had regrouped, Shad had already eliminated a decent number of enemy Flits and airships and even badly damaged a Guardian dreadnought.

He had vowed to protect the Citadel as long as possible, which was a sacrifice no one could believe Thaddeus Knowing would have willingly made.

It didn't matter. The elevator doors opened into the command centre. It was a flurry of activity, but Nabooru was heedless to it. She had to get to the balconies where the mortars had been set. Her lungs were on fire.

As she burst out into the night again, a few hundred feet over the city, her breath was stolen by the chill. Up here, there were no buildings to cut off the wind.

Impa Shades was warmly dressed in a military winter coat, doing the liaison between Auru Mages' commands and the mortar operators, pointing at targets on the ground. She was in her element, among the martial chaos. She was pale haired, sharp-featured, austere and almost masculine in appearance.

The memories, now painfully familiar to her, returned. Nabooru was familiar with the whole thing, the vow to serve, the lullabies, the oddly warm task of being both guardian and mother to the young princess of Hyrule. She remembered the heartache of seeing her charge suffer nightmares, the painful ears from Zelda's attempts at mastering the ocarina in her early years.

She remembered the sorrow, the urgency, of leaving Hyrule Castle in the hands of the usurper. And teaching Zelda how to fight, how to hide her identity, how to vanish, how to protect herself. It was all in case she herself could no longer do it. That much was essential. She remembered venturing into the Shadow Temple, and defeat at Bongo Bongo's massive, ghostly hands. She remembered resuming her duties, watching over the royal children, and the pride and concern and determination. She remembered growing old, growing weak, growing respected. She remembered passing into the Shadow, and feeling the peace of her ancestors there.

It was halting, now, to think she would effectively lose her last grip on that story. As the other memories had eventually faded away, and were replaced only with vague notions, this was her last anchor to the past.

The last seal on her own abilities, hopefully.

"Commander Impa Shades," Nabooru called out, ignoring the memory that she had, until recently, actively sought to eliminate her from Gerudo Canyon.

Impa turned, frowning. "Yes?"

"Nabooru Spirit," Nabooru said, outstretching a hand, her heart beating wildly.

The name didn't seem to ring a bell, and Impa Shades took her hand without hesitation, which was enough. Without buckling, without gasping, she simply froze, her hand tightening in hers.

Shadow engulfed them, making everything dimmer. Nabooru felt pride surge out of her, and thoughts deep and without echo, a cool whisper of doubts and fears, and all the motherly love that draped her heart. The shadow swallowed them whole, until there was nowhere to look, until everything felt like an abyss. Nabooru would have let the shadow take her, siphon everything she was.

But she wasn't the Sage of Shadow.

She was the Sage of Spirit. With every memory that slipped out of her, slithering, it felt like she was overturning stones in her own mind, revealing dry heat and grains of sand, feeling the coolness of her abode, the echo of her steps inside the Spirit Temple. She was a warrior, she was one of the strongest in her tribe.

It all came to her in a singular rush, the emotions heartrending, the despair, the pride, the anger, the determination, the cunning. She was greedy, too, and hungry for revenge, and the feeling of a blade in her hand was as familiar as one of her own limbs.

She remembered the torture of seven years, the mind twisting, the hate she felt for the witch sisters. She remembered her need to protect her people. She remembered the boy in green.

She remembered what it meant to be the incarnation of _Spirit_.

Impa released her hand. Nabooru inhaled sharply. As her eyes focused again on Impa, she was at a loss for words.

Something had changed inside her, like a stone shifting out of a pathway that had, until then, been completely obstructed.

"_Entera_," Impa said, at length. Nabooru would have cried.

"Sister," she echoed, smiling.

Impa Shades seemed to consider the new information, her face expressionless. She was looking at the mortar cannons, then, in the best understatement Nabooru had heard so far, said, "This changes things."

Nabooru laughed. It was so wrong, considering the war, considering everything, the deaths, the injuries, the sorrow. But her heart felt as warm as the Gerudo sun, as comforted as being held in a mother's arms.

"We should join the others."

"Yes―" Impa halted herself, blinking. She was beginning to glow. It was a deep colour, purple and rich, like an aura around her whole body. When Nabooru looked down at her own hands, she was glowing a warm orange. Soldiers all around them stopped to stare.

"I was the last Sage, I take it," Impa said, calmly.

"What's going on?"

"A binding," Impa replied. Her eyes sought the top of the Citadel, then dropped down to the tower's foot, where Zelda and the others probably still were. "It's starting."

Nabooru wasn't sure what that meant, but she didn't have time to ask. The world went bright around her, and she lost all awareness of reality.

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><p><strong>THERE SHOULD DEFINITELY BE A LINE BREAK HERE. IF IT DOESN'T SHOW UP, I AM INNOCENT OF ANY WRONGDOING. I TRIED, BY JOVE, I TRIED.<strong>

**I might as well take the occasion of this short chapter to talk about a couple of things. You can skip this entirely if you don't give a damn, and it won't change your enjoyment of the story. I promise.  
><strong>

**First off, I think I should mention how much I truly appreciate people commenting on their thoughts regarding characterization. I do try to give the canon an authentic, likeable flavor, and your feedback on that front has told me I've made some good choices. I can tick that off my list! I also really, really, really hope people have become fans of Midnark (MidnaxDark) under my watch, or at least that I make a convincing case for them. I don't want to toot my own horn here, or anything, but come on. They're bloody brilliant if you stop to think on it. Seriously, guys. THEY'RE PERFECT.**

**Also, if anyone's looking for music to accompany their reading, I've got a short playlist in my profile of suggested songs. Most of those are just the music I listened to while writing, so you'll probably find that the pacing in my chapters matches a few of the songs I put there.**

**And okay. Final count breakdown. There are nine chapters to go, plus one epilogue. If anyone is wondering what's going on with Midna, Link or any of the others, I guess you'll have to hang in there! (Zelda is up next.)  
><strong>

**Factoids!**

**- Not to make anyone nervous, but the next chapter is the last Zelda POV for the story. WHAT DOES THIS MEAN**

**- The gender breakdown for upcoming POVs is 6 female POVs, and 4 male POVs, but with a total of 3 female characters and 2 male characters in all.  
><strong>

**- More than half of the remaining chapters will basically be about tying up loose ends.**

**I think I'm done with the PSAs for today. If I forgot to cover anything, let me know in a review and I'll try to address that next chapter.  
><strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	53. 3-18 - The Warden of Time

**Hey, guys. This chapter is HUGE. Like, two and a half times the average length of other chapters. That's what turning points are about, right?**

**See you at the bottom for reactions.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 18: THE WARDEN OF TIME**

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><p><em>6th of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age<br>Hyrule, Castleton  
>The Citadel, command centre<em>

Zelda felt Impa's awakening like a punch to the gut. Like a dam breaking, a surge of power found its way into her bloodstream. There was no other way to describe it. Where exhaustion, cold and fear had until then been foremost in her mind, now was only youth, and strength, and awareness.

The whole world throbbed as every moment inched by. For an eternity, Zelda _saw_ time. It was like a strange wavering, a pulse, a swift heartbeat. She felt it pressing all around her, hot and cool at once, and, beyond that, she saw immense ribbons of an infinity of colours, all intertwining. She wasn't sure what the ribbons were, but she had the inkling that it was time itself. She, and everyone she knew, and everyone that ever was in the totality of the Hylian empire, they all existed in one ribbon, and when she looked up, she saw two mirror ribbons, almost identical to her own, and beyond that, in the infinite throbbing of eternity, millions of other ribbons of every sort, streams of time and existence so vast she could not fathom what it all meant.

Dizziness seized her, but it was a good dizziness, like standing on the edge of a chasm, and knowing, just knowing, that by tipping over, she would know _everything _that had ever been and ever would be.

But she never tipped over. Something was holding her back, like a firm tether, and Zelda realized it was her own mortality. The simple fact of her bodily existence, the simple smallness of her being, was enough to keep all the knowledge of the universe from her. It was a basic fact, that she was too small a container for that font of understanding, but it came with a distinctly sobering disappointment.

Still, to glimpse at the immensity of Time and all its streams, to be reminded of her place in the scheme, to be warned at once of her insignificance, and also of her crucial importance, was a gift she had not anticipated.

Zelda wanted to touch those other ribbons, to know the people in them, to see if she was there too, or if she was unique, or if, perhaps, they had once, long ago, been a single ribbon. She watched the ribbons slowly undulate overhead, felt her own timeline throbbing calmly around her, and realized she was looking, quite literally, at her own timeline of events, at all the events that had come before, all the minute, insignificant decisions from everyone in this world that had led her to this very moment, standing on this very ground, looking at everything that had ever been.

If by facing this direction, she was looking at the past, Zelda surmised, then perhaps…

As she turned, she realized there was nothing ahead. Seemingly, the ribbon stopped there, abruptly, as though signalling the end of the world. But it wasn't. It was unfurling, and she was unfolding with it. This ribbon was hanging over nothing, an emptiness so troubling and blank she had trouble discerning any meaning for it.

How was the ribbon unfolding? It was an odd question, because she still stood, right there, on its edge, watching it unfurl without end, and it seemed less important then to wonder how time worked than to understand where it was going.

But that was the thing, Zelda realized. The ribbon was unfolding because it seemed to know where it was going, and it had to get there, somehow, like there was a purpose greater than anything else. There were events to come that _had_ to come.

Zelda realized she was looking at destiny in motion. And she was on the cusp of it, unable to step back, to wait, to halt, to think.

The prospect was terrifying, because how could she be ready for the events to come? This was happening too fast. The ribbon was heedless of her panic, hurtling forward, unstoppable, unyielding.

"Stop," she whispered, heart racing. "I'm not ready."

The ribbon seemed to slow, but not entirely, and only briefly. Zelda tried to move away from the edge, but her feet would not move back.

"Stop," she begged. "I can't do this."

The ribbon paused its unfurling, but not long. Zelda realized it was listening, despite its stubborn motion forward.

"Stop," she commanded. _Give me a minute_.

It stopped. It stopped as comfortably and easily as a wave lapping on the shore and staying there. She looked up, and saw the other ribbons still unfurling.

When she looked around, she realized everyone in the world had stopped moving. The light was motionless even, and dim for it. The blades of grass were stopped, the wind was still, the banners in the air fixed in motion, the hovercrafts of airships paused, like figurines in amber. Moving and breathing required a lot of energy, simply to displace the still air. Her eyes felt weak, her muscles heavy.

And, overhead, the infinite ribbons unfolded as she watched. All unfurling except her she looked down at her band of Time, she realized she was in denial.

She could stop Time, but it was no way to live. She had to accept that she could not step backward, that those things were fixed. She would never know all the secrets of the past. They were not within the realm of things she could see.

Zelda looked down at the endless chasm of timelessness, saw the myriad timelines unfolding despite her best efforts, felt the sturdy throbbing of her own timeline under her, halted and patient.

"Alright. You have a road to follow," she said, to Time itself. Destiny. Fate. "And I'm along for the ride, whether I like it or not."

It was odd, speaking to something that did not speak back, that didn't even seem to care that she was commanding it. If Time was inanimate, it still seemed to have a will of its own.

Zelda felt her heart tighten, the indescribable sinking feeling that she was utterly without options.

Fate. Destiny. There was only one way to go.

Zelda lifted her foot, and stepped off the ribbon of time.

And Time resumed its motion, and the explosions began again, and she was hearing a hundred screams of pain, commands, radios, warnings, and amidst it all she understood that with Impa's awakening, she had also been released.

Nabooru had been held back because she was Spirit, the source of all memories, and could not be awakened while she was burdened with the others' true selves. But Zelda herself had not been burdened. She had only been dependant on the other Sages being awakened. The power of Time was immense, but it existed because the other powers did first.

It occurred to Zelda that Sages were strong by virtue of being the very fonts of Magic. She was truly awakened now. She knew the cost of moving Time.

And she would use it wisely.

The task ahead became clear, and grief threatened to cripple her.

"Your grace, it's time to retreat to a safe place," Vaati said. He looked exhausted, and had taken more than a few scrapes. Saria was drifting in and out of consciousness, but Zelda was reasonably sure she would pull through, given enough time.

Zelda nodded, and Vaati hefted Saria up again, and they entered the Citadel, Ruto on their heels. It was chaotic everywhere, but at least she was filled with a stillness that made everything seem calm. Sad, but calm.

"_Entera_," Saria murmured, her small hand reaching out over Vaati's shoulder. Her eyes were partially open. She was hurt, but conscious. "My Magic…" As though to underline her concerns, delicate vines coiled around her arm and fingers, like a shield for her bruised skin. Her Magic was renewed.

"We're all together now," Zelda said, calmly. "We can fight properly this time."

Saria said nothing. Her eyelids drooped. She was saving her energy.

Vaati muttered something under his breath. He hitched Saria a little higher in his arms, himself looking ready to collapse. Zelda motioned for medical personnel to assist.

Out of the chaos, Rauru stepped forward. He seemed rejuvenated, as Zelda had felt, and he emitted a gentle golden light that soothed and comforted those he walked past. He watched Saria with concern, then said, to Zelda, Ruto and Vaati, "We have to act. Ganondorf Dragmire has ordered a full assault on the Citadel. The airships are flying forward, dropping bombs as they go. They will be here within minutes."

Celestia and Impa's forces were good reinforcements, but Ganondorf had superior numbers, and the airships still swarmed the city faster than they could be stopped.

"How has civilian evacuation progressed?"

Rauru looked pained. "As well as can be expected, but too few have come forth for shelter."

Zelda's heart squeezed. A part of her wondered if there was some way to shape Time, to alter their fate, but it was too late now. She could only step forward, not back.

"Where are Darunia, Nabooru and Impa?" Ruto asked, brow furrowed. She had also reacted to the final awakening, and water stirred constantly around her, like every step she took sloshed at water that appeared just to betray who she was. To her credit, she took it in with a stride Zelda found impressive.

"Upstairs," Rauru said, blandly, and, as if to punctuate his words, blasts shook the tower.

Outside, an airship had taken a direct blow, and was burning up in the night sky.

"Looks like Darunia has made the best of this second wind," Vaati exhaled, trying not to smile.

As if in agreement, two more airships fell from the sky, one swallowed by an all-consuming shadow, and the other… well, the crew seemed imbued with pale orange light, and jumped to their deaths. As the pilots jumped ship, the airship lost direction and fell.

"That's Nabooru," Zelda guessed, haunted by the sight of enemy troops committing suicide.

"Without Spirit," Vaati said, almost sadly, "there is only despair."

Nabooru's power was all the more chilling that it worked despite formidable odds in the favour of their enemy. Zelda wasn't sure she approved, but she was glad the Sage of Spirit was on their side. Ill times begged desperate measures indeed.

"Maybe we should help," Ruto said, smiling coolly, water coiling along her arms like a liquid snake.

Zelda nodded.

"Yes, let's go."

She was about to follow after them when something crashed against the Citadel, broke through the lobby windows, and splayed on the floor..

A giant spider. Midna Black. The princess of Twilight's golem had come to a stop, showering broken glass everywhere. There were cries of terror. Medical services rushed to pull the injured away.

The golem was broken. It was about as limp as Saria had been. A single mandible clacked, weakly, and inside the cockpit, Midna looked pale as death.

Skies.

"Midna…" Zelda gasped, feeling a shudder of shock wrack her. She ran forward, and pried open the window, which came loose uncomfortably easily, and was washed up in the smell of rotting death. Her head swam. She coughed.

'Zelda Harkinian!'

The thundering voice of Ganondorf Dragmire was barely enough to break through the haze of Midna's bullet wound in the chest. The princess of Twilight was bleeding profusely from the side.

'Surrender or witness the end of your time!'

Zelda's hands were warm with Midna's blood, her tears of shock dripping down her cheeks, incapable of helping.

_Oh Skies, stop the bleeding, stop this! Stop all of it_―

Time slowed, as if mindlessly obeying. Zelda felt the pressure throbbing around her briefly.

What good was stopping time when there was no help she could give? Midna was hurt, fatally so if she didn't get help. Zelda acknowledged the corpse in the back, but not its significance, or even its age. She was failing one of her fiercest allies.

'_Zelda Harkinian_!' Dragmire roared.

Midna still had a pulse. Zelda turned, eyes watery, vision blurry, and cried out for help. Hands pried her off Midna, and she lost sight of Twilight's princess as doctors rushed to free the princess from the golem where she was trapped.

'_Come out and surrender!_'

The roar of engines sounded all around her. She was failing her people. She had failed.

_What use was Time when she was the only one moving it?_

In the roar, she saw Saria mouthing something at her. Ruto was doing the same. Outside, Guardian Airships were preparing to fire on her tower. No matter what Darunia, Impa or Nabooru were doing, they were outnumbered.

Rauru grabbed her by the shoulders. Suddenly, she heard his voice over the din.

"You are the leader," he said. "Lead!"

Time slowed. Zelda found the stillness of the infinite inside of her. As she looked down at her hands, they seemed to glow a throbbing white.

There was something inside of her, and she wasn't sure how to tap it, but she had to try.

Yes.

_You're right_, she said, and her brothers and sisters stilled, all ears. She could feel their presence as though they all stood together, heads in, hands held, their lives full and strong. She felt Nabooru's fierce courage, Darunia's burning passion, Rauru's enlightened patience, Impa's measured caution, Ruto's cool excitement and Saria's lively youth. She felt them all like currents of strength and heat, their signatures as bright as stars in the darkness.

I am the resolute, the unstoppable, she reminded herself. That is the strength they need. They need to know Time itself is on their side.

'_Surrender, Zelda Harkinian! There is no escape!_'

_Ganondorf will be the end of me_, she calmly told them, with a certainty that unsettled them clearly. _We must buy time for the people to escape. There is no other way._

As she said so, she knew Darunia was warning Auru Mages and the other people in command to prepare for immediate evacuation. She heard Rauru tell the medical personnel on the ground floor to evacuate towards the Citadel basement.

They would find the old sewers. They might even make it out of the city.

She felt Ruto and Saria, still borne by Vaati, climb to join Darunia, Nabooru and Impa on the upper floors.

_We need courage now_, Zelda said, and instantly felt Nabooru fill them with all the fierce determination of her Magic. As she looked around, Zelda saw everyone in the Citadel, indeed, every soldier in the street outside, every fighter of the Hylian Alliance, glowing warm orange, their fear forgotten, their strength recovering.

_Thank you, entera_, she murmured, to Nabooru.

She then picked up a bulletproof vest, slipped it on, and stepped outside of the Citadel. The silence that followed screamed of the general surprise. Rauru called out after her, but she shot him a quelling look.

_We must buy Time_, she reminded him, patiently.

His sorrow was evident. Zelda wanted to cry when she saw it, but smiled instead.

Ganondorf Dragmire was inside Goht, the massive golem. It was pounding at the ground, arcs of electricity flying from its coiled mechanical parts. Midna and Celestia had damaged him heavily, but not heavily enough.

The wind whipped at Zelda's hair, blowing soot and dust and heat. It wasn't snowing anymore, but the spittle of rain pricked her skin. Fires were raging all over the city. As she lifted her gaze to the sky, she saw that Guardian airships were uncomfortably close to the Citadel, held at bay, barely, by the combined efforts of her brothers and sisters.

Somewhere to the southeast, Celestia, the City in the Sky, had powered down. She briefly wondered why. It was barely keeping afloat, most of its lights out, thick black smoke blowing from its hovercrafts, as though it was relying on backup power. Zelda briefly felt a stab of guilt, thinking of Shad and his gift of sacrifice. To look at it now, Celestia had nothing of the shining metallic glory she remembered. It was worn, dark, polluted.

Zelda probed the massive construction, hoping to find Shad's mind there, and was surprised to find he was almost too busy to acknowledge her calling presence. This was Shad as she had not known him, martial and calculating. He would want to organize his retreat, no doubt. She merely sent him a brief thought of thanks, and tried not to smile when his thoughts stilled, surprised.

Immediately pulling back, she looked around at her own fleet of airships, all in disarray and overwhelmed. They were trying to regroup, but it would cost them.

Her eyes fell on Ganondorf Dragmire again. He was still stomping, waiting for something.

He was waiting for her surrender.

The smoke of fires burned her eyes. Zelda stepped forward.

'I hope you know that all of this could have been avoided,' Ganondorf said, his voice cold.

Apparently, the lure of taunting her was too great to ignore. Zelda did not reply. She came forward, ever forward, knowing that a simple reinforced vest would not protect her from Midna's fate.

Ganondorf Dragmire knew it too, because he didn't move. He was in no hurry, and he did not feel she was a threat.

Zelda reached out with her mind, and found Ganondorf's. He was resistant to her search and hard to read. Talking would have to do.

"Leave my city," she said.

He laughed, the sound distorted and mechanical. 'No.'

Zelda did not blame him, but the longer she spoke, the better her peoples' chances of escape were.

She was close now, close enough that every arc of electricity risked burning her through.

She stopped there, right before the massive height of Goht. She looked up at Ganondorf's weapon, and tried to still her pounding heart, to calm her rising panic.

_Pri enter ih septe_, she reminded herself. One sibling in seven. She felt her Sages' eyes on her acutely. They were waiting for her signal.

One by one, she tethered herself to them, feeling their unique signatures mixing with her own Magic. Time and Fire, Time and Forest, Time and Shadow…

One by one, they relented to her request, and she felt her heart swell.

'Surrender, or I will crush you,' the Admiral commanded. Zelda heard him just as Rauru finally relented his Light Magic.

She looked into Goht's face, searching. He would not like her reply.

"I will gladly die before I ever think of relenting the seat of Hyrule to a tyrant."

Goht stirred, and electricity arced, hitting a nearby overturned garbage can. Zelda's heart raced.

'I am tired,' Ganondorf said. Something about the way he said it spoke of great weariness, of envy, of sadness. It filled Zelda with discomfited compassion. 'This will end.'

Zelda raised a hand, palm outward. "It must."

It was Time.

The world began to throb as she fuelled her power with all the energy of her fellow Sages. They fed her with the strength to slow down Ganondorf, to hold back his charge. She watched, as through a glass, darkly, as Goht's hooves lifted, as arcs of lightning flew slowly outward, like a ballet of light, as everything around her grew dim and dark, the more light ceased moving. She begged the gods for the power to stop him.

If she could stop him entirely, make him into living stone, bring him outside of Time itself, perhaps they could find a way to destroy him. She felt sweat bead down her temple, felt her heart racing with exertion, felt her brothers and sisters cry out in exhaustion.

It had to happen soon, or they would have used up all their energy for nothing.

She reached out to touch Goht.

Against all her efforts, it snapped out of her reach with such a sudden shock that all of Zelda's energy unhinged, and the Time warp she had tried to cast dissolved. She collapsed.

… She had failed.

Goht had been thrown aside with such force it had actually maimed one of its legs. Zelda pushed herself up as much as she could. Soldiers started to flank her, to cover her. They would try to escort her back to the safety of the Citadel.

But there was no stepping back. There was only forward. Zelda released a shuddering breath and rose to her feet, ignoring the veil of voices asking her to consider her own safety.

Goht had been body-slammed.

By another golem.

As Goht spasmed, trying to regain its footing, the golem turned. It was a massive stone head with two large hands. As it turned, she saw the pilot.

Zelda's breath came out in one shuddering sob.

Link.

His eyes found her, did a worried once-over, then appeared pleased that she was all in one piece.

'Hey. Meet Gohdan,' he said, his synthetic voice deep and clearly borrowed from the golem itself. Zelda felt tears of raw exhaustion trail down her cheeks, through the grime and the sweat, burning. She was shaking now, the shock of her relief too great to withstand.

She had been ready to die.

Goht rose to its hooves, its hind leg dragging limply. Zelda and her covering soldiers stared, in horror, as the golem showed unsettling resilience.

Seeing it, Link's face changed. Instead of his usual smile, he frowned, then scowled in anger. Gohdan turned to face Goht head on.

'Go,' he said, to Zelda. 'I've got this. You have a whole army to deal with.'

He was right. Of course. She did. Her eyes flew up to the Citadel, and found her Sages on the ledge, waiting. Yes. Right. Link was right. The Guardian admiralty would have to be taken care of alongside Ganondorf Dragmire.

The war wasn't over. Yet.

She retreated, running.

She cast one last look over her shoulder at Link, who was manœuvring Gohdan with the same ease as he piloted any airship.

This was true courage, then, she realized, as her limbs felt invigorated and her heart filled with strength.

Time to put it to good use.

* * *

><p><strong>Haha, Zelda's not dead. I'm sure I had you worried, though. (Midna's fate, though... Guess you'll have to wait and see.)<strong>

**On a note of minor relevance, when Zelda sees other timelines, she's looking at the split timelines themselves. Her inner inquiries about whether or not she exists in those other timelines is therefore far more pertinent than she'll ever know.**

**I got a few PMs over the past couple of weeks asking how I write characters so realistically (thanks!). If anyone's curious, here's the gist of it.**

**I don't remember where I first read about this, but essentially, a character is always grieving for something. We grieve in small ways every day: we wasted our time, we should have taken another piece of cake, we _shouldn't_ have taken another piece of cake, we did all that effort for nothing, we didn't go somewhere because we were sick― we're always hitting those 5 stages of grief, even if just a little, even if we don't actively recognize them.**

**Yes, your personality affects just how denial (shock/withdrawal), anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance manifest in your actions, but ultimately, you go through all the stages, even if you only spend a few seconds on each. Obviously, you'll feel the emotions more for the death of a loved one than you would because you didn't get invited to a party, but there it is. When I write, I just make sure that it's all there. I don't let a character off easy. They have to undergo disappointment and grief and come out with the wrinkles to prove it.**

**Also, I had a conversation with Lyxie just last week about how people react to their impending death, which is a huge kind of grief all of its own. The topic is particularly relevant considering Dark and Midna's story and also, at least in this chapter, Zelda's resolve to buy time. We discussed how people would react to self-sacrifice, and agreed it was unlikely that someone without a prior death wish would go to their death willingly. I try to make it obvious that characters, even when they die for a cause, even when the greater good depends on it, will always have that inner selfishness that ties into our most basic instinct of survival, no matter how otherwise noble they are.**

**If you ever re-read their final chapters in FG, I hope you notice it (assuming you haven't already). Dark, in particular, feels a very visceral recoil at the sight of all the needles. Midna, for her part, actually HAS a death wish and still spends most of her fight with Ganon struggling to take the next breath, to keep herself going. I think there's always a will to live that basically fights suicidal actions every inch of the way. In a way, it's the very definition of living.**

**So, anyway, I sincerely hope this sheds a little light on how fictional characters' reactions can be made relatable. If anyone has any further questions, let me know. I certainly don't keep any trade secrets.**

**Now I have to get back to work. Let me know what you thought of the chapter!**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	54. 3-19 - The Victor

**I know this one is short, but it's important.**

**Next chapter will be Monday.**

**Enjoy.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 19: THE VICTOR**

* * *

><p><em>6<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>In front of the Citadel_

Morning was rising over Castleton.

Link didn't quite understand how Zelda and her armies had managed to stave off such a massive Guardian force for so long. He had seen huge trees broken on the battlefield, and enemy airships covered in vines, or burning, or surrounded by soldiers who had blown their brains out. There was unseasonable snow on the ground, and it melted in the heat of the fires, quick rivulets of ice water running down the streets.

And Goht was still rising.

Something burned inside of Link, and he realized it was rage. Castleton had been his city for a long time now. It was Kidd's home, it was Zelda's and Shad's, it was the seat of Hyrule. The centre of the empire.

No one could deface it like this and go on unpunished.

Still, at least Zelda was safe. He still couldn't believe he'd made it on time. They'd flown north from the Tower of the Gods as fast as Gohdan's added weight allowed. It had been a shock to see the devastation of Castleton, and even more of a shock to see Celestia engaging in open air warfare.

Celestia! He'd truly lived to see the impossible.

As soon as they'd been within range, Shad had hailed him. Link hadn't expected that. They had still been debating how to best help the Hylian Alliance. So when Shad promised a good power source for Gohdan, Link had felt the urgency not to question an actual Sol pulled from Celestia's power core.

How Shad's father had managed to keep a Sol hidden for so long was a mystery.

It didn't matter now. Link wasn't the kind to count teeth on a gift horse.

The City in the Sky had powered down, to run only on emergency fuel reserves, and Link had left Sheik, Malon and Colin and even Damon in Shad's care. He was sure Damon would find a Flit to fight with any minute now.

Gohdan was alive again, and not a moment too soon. If Zelda's courage was admirable, it had also been reckless. Link hadn't even questioned body-slamming Goht away from her.

There was a savage instinct inside of him now, like being in Gohdan made him into something more than just a soldier. He grit his teeth. He _would _keep her safe.

'Where did you find that toy, boy?' Ganondorf Dragmire asked. Gohdan whirred under Link in mild annoyance, and Goht found its footing, its hind leg limp.

Good. Now for the rest―

Overhead, an explosion rocked deep into his gut. An airship crashed, one street over, with a thick fireball. Zelda and her Citadel garrison would push the enemy away. Link only had one task.

"Surrender, Admiral," he said. "Order your troops to pull back."

Ganondorf Dragmire laughed. Goht was resilient, that was true, and made for ramming, but Gohdan was strength incarnate. Perhaps against Goht's raw stamina, he would have failed, but something had already damaged Dragmire's golem quite soundly, and Gohdan would have no trouble finding a way to strike surely and powerfully.

Admiral Dragmire was trying to limp away. It would not do.

Rushing forward, Link extended Gohdan's right hand and closed it around Goht's front left leg. With a single squeeze, he heard Goht's metal leg groaning in complaint. Soon, something snapped, and Goht tilted, too damaged to move anymore.

Gohdan had done its job. Goht was defeated.

Link heard Ganondorf breathing as hard as Goht would have. With Gohdan's other hand, he grabbed Goht's horned head and pried it off, revealing Ganondorf Dragmire inside.

He locked Gohdan in place, and slid his own cockpit open, jumping over to reach for Ganondorf.

He'd never been this close to an enemy. Flits never let you see the whites of their eyes. The Admiral wasn't even scared, but his expression was changing. Rage fuelled Link's strength as he reached for the Admiral's decorated, medalled collar. He fisted the material, and brought his face close.

And froze.

"_You_." Something flickered in Ganondorf Dragmire's eyes, something that spoke of old recognition. Link stared back, feeling something odd that screamed of familiarity.

He'd never met the Guardian Admiral in person, but somewhere, deep down, they knew each other as well as two adversary souls could.

"Ganon," Link breathed out with hatred, despite himself, the sound guttural and ancient, and Admiral Ganondorf Dragmire opened his mouth, to speak Link's name, but he stopped himself. Fury filled them both.

Ganondorf shifted. A flash of metal in his hand. Link's fist connected with Ganondorf Dragmire's jaw with a satisfying crack.

"For Outset," he spat.

Something tore at his side, but he couldn't make sense of it. Something warm was dripping down his flank. Pain registered, but barely.

"It was my pleasure," the Admiral grunted, rubbing his jaw. Something sick shone in his golden eyes, a sadistic light that made bile rise in Link's throat. Before he could reply, the taste of blood gurgled into his mouth.

Link looked down, his hands caught in Ganondorf Dragmire's clothes, and saw the knife protruding from his flank.

"Captain!"

As through a haze, the voices began to register. They were surrounded, and bright projectors shone over them blindingly.

"Step down, captain!"

Link looked down at the Admiral's smug smile. It clearly spoke of Link's oncoming death.

"I win. At last." There was no describing the victory in the Admiral's eyes. It was bright and manic.

The Hylian Alliance captain spat blood out, and choked, "Tell your troops to retreat."

Ganondorf Dragmire simply smiled at him with a small smirk, his defiance contained entirely in his silence.

"Captain, step away from him!"

Link held on tighter to the Admiral's collar. "_SURRENDER_." He shouted it, and drops of blood splattered on the Guardian uniform, all over Ganondorf's tan face. The pain was growing out of his side, pulling at his arms and legs until he felt himself weakening.

Zelda―

"Link!"

Before Link could make sense of what was happening, Ganondorf Dragmire's eyes grew wide. Link turned, the pain excruciating.

On the Citadel, Zelda was glowing a blinding white, edges of gentle, warm pink and blues soothing the sight only enough that they could look on her without shutting their eyes in fear. Through the haze in Link's mind, she looked like a goddess reborn, like the empress she had been born to become.

She was standing on a high ledge, surrounded by allies that glowed as brightly as she did in an array of colours so pure they hurt, looking down at them, glorious and silent, as though she had all the time in the world to dispense judgement.

She wasn't looking at him, though. Behind him, Ganondorf Dragmire whimpered. When Link looked back down at him, he saw that the Gerudo admiral was weeping.

The hate was gone. The rage. The determination. All gone.

He whispered something Link couldn't make out.

Then, before Link could react, the knife that had, until then, been planted in his side was ripped out. The pain was blinding hot, enough to make him scream, and before Link could gather what few wits he still had, Ganondorf Dragmire slashed at his own stomach, repeatedly, pulling at the fabric of his decorated uniform, opening a gaping wound in his gut. The innards spilled out, putrid, and the Admiral cried out in agony.

It was more than Link had expected. The blood gushed in a steady stream, soiling their uniforms. The flesh, the guts, everything was jarring. Link didn't fear the fire, the smoke or even the rock. When a Flit went down it just… went. This, though. This was so unexpectedly human, so basically visceral, it made Link sick to see it.

As Ganondorf moaned his agony, Link buckled over, his muscles giving out, and crumpled down. He was vaguely aware of falling out of Goht's head and onto the pavement at the base of Gohdan. His head hit the road with a painful crack.

And then, everything went dark.

Except for Zelda, because Zelda was luminous, and no greater source of light had ever existed, or ever would. And she wasn't covered in blood and guts. She could claim him now, if she wanted.

… In his torpor, she was smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>What the heck, I'm killing everyone. What's up with that? HAS AGE MADE ME SADISTIC?<strong>

**I thought I'd never reach this point in the narrative where the fight was actually over. Do you see that shit? Look at that. I've been working on this for, like, four years, guys. What am I doing with my life?**

**Anyway, next chapter is the beginning of the end. I've got this whole infirmary of characters who are still hanging between life and death, and it would be harsh to not let you know how that turns out for them.**

**Ooh, ooh, do that thing where you review! It's my favourite trick! Smiley face!**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. Also we hit the 300 reviews last chapter. I like those round numbers. Thanks a bunch, people. Y'all are totes my fave.**


	55. 3-20 - The Two Mages

**Nothing new to add for now.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 20: THE TWO MAGES**

* * *

><p><em>10<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

Midna's eyes had opened many hours ago. She had stared at the bland ceiling of the recovery ward unseeingly, her heart empty, her mind even more so. There was some pain, but she couldn't remember why.

It had taken about two minutes for all of the memories to come crashing back into her mind, and her sobs of sorrow had convinced the doctors to drug her back into a fitful rest.

In and out of consciousness, she had gone, sometimes able to push the awareness of her existence off for as much as five whole minutes. It was the hardest part, realizing she was still damnably alive. It had been easy to wish for death, and terrifying to seek to live, and now she found herself hating her doctors.

They meant well, and it was the most heartrending truth of all.

She must have died on the battlefield, obviously. That they obstinately refused to let her go was frustrating.

Eventually, they had weaned her off of everything except the painkillers. She was confined to her room. There was a single window, through which she could see as far as Hyrule Field. Castleton, for its part, was a mess. Already there were people sweeping the streets, and machines clearing the rubble…

But Castleton was scarred forever. Just like Midna was.

The nurses had given up trying to strike up a conversation. They simply placed trays of food on the table and warned her that if she didn't eat at least half of the food there, she'd be intubated by force.

Midna made herself eat an apple. It was cut into quarters for her, because they didn't trust her to handle any sharp utensils.

She had figured out well enough that she was on suicide watch.

No matter, she was the princess of Twilight. They would have to return her home, and she would be a lot freer in Nightfall. Anyone might slip a drop of poison in her tea.

That thought was as close to comforting as anything could be. Her sorrow would end, some day soon.

That day, when the door opened and didn't reveal a nurse, Midna pretended not to be surprised.

Zelda stepped in, looking haggard. She had deep circles lining her eyes, and she did not look like the powerful ruler she was supposed to be.

Zelda shut the door behind her and pulled up a chair. Midna stayed where she usually was, sitting by the window, her drip of painkillers at her side.

A long silence followed, where Midna watched Zelda's face play host to a hundred emotions. Midna watched the shadows grow infinitesimally on the pristine floor.

At length, Zelda broke the silence. "I… I'm sorry. Your co-pilot, he didn't make it. He was dead when we pulled you out of the golem."

There had been a thousand things Midna had expected from Zelda, but this had not been one of them. Because she had been bracing herself for so many other things, Zelda's declaration, and the allusions it made, blindsided Midna and a surge of pain squeezed at her heart. Midna reached for the painkiller dosage, and gave it a push, urging a stronger dose into her bloodstream.

It was pointless. Her pain was in the soul, not in the body.

"I imagine you've been working on your recovery," Zelda continued, as though she hadn't just caused a stab of agony in her counterpart. Midna suspected she knew more than she let on, but did not inquire. "I think you're physically fit enough to hear how politics have been going on. If you'd like."

Midna nodded, but found she still had no voice to speak with.

"Well, Ganondorf Dragmire committed suicide," Zelda said, her breath shuddering. She was still holding information back. Midna saw it in the flickering of her eyes, in the sudden depth and distance of her gaze, as though she was in another place, and another time. "That would have been, um, early morning, on the 6th. Soon after, I got a communication from Queen Seline of Calatia, indicating that, with help from her people who revolted as soon as Admiral Dragmire's forces had ceased the occupation, she had taken her throne back from Chancellor Cole, who was acting for Dragmire. This would have been sometime that afternoon, on the 6th still."

Zelda paused, waiting for Midna to acknowledge what she had said. But Midna had nothing to say. Looking disappointed, Zelda continued.

"I was also told that Rutela was approached by Komali Wings, who wanted to extend the olive branch, so to speak. I only heard of it late on the that same day, but we're actually speculating he reached out for peace before even hearing about Dragmire's defeat. I think you'll agree with me that he should be immediately reinstated on the council."

Midna said nothing, swallowing saliva expressionlessly. Zelda did not seem to wait for an answer.

"Uh, where to continue? By the morning of the 7th, I had several partisans of the Guardians formally arrested. Impa Shades already had Onox Gorgon," her eyes flickered to Midna, but Midna said nothing still. "I think we can thank you and the armies of Twilight for that."

Midna shrugged. Zelda brightened. She stood, and pulled her chair over by Midna's side, to sit by the window with her. Midna let her, but averted her gaze.

"I also had Veran Broken put into custody. Labrynna and Holodrum surrendered shortly thereafter. We're still waiting for the council to reform before we take an official decision on how to re-establish stability in that area."

Midna was listening, though she didn't want to acknowledge it. Her eyes were on Celestia. It was floating in the southern skies, far in the distance, a mess of scaffolds and repairs.

Zelda followed her gaze. "We've donated one of the golems' Sols back to Shad and his city. It seems only fair. They had one all along."

Midna felt something in her stomach, but did not care to analyze whether it was jealousy, curiosity, anger, or even relief.

"As for the two other Sols, the ones from your golem and Goht's," Zelda continued, "we've entrusted them to the Twili generals. They're waiting for your command."

Midna let out a shuddering breath. Her hands were shaking.

"I can't do it," she whispered.

It was Zelda's turn to be silent. Her pale hands reached for Midna's, and she squeezed.

They sat in silence for a long time.

"I would gladly keep you here while you recover," Zelda gently said, at last, "but your people need to know you're staying here willingly. I don't want them to think you're held against your wishes."

"No," Midna said, shaking her head. "I can't. They deserve a real queen, not me."

The Shadow inside of her was cool and soothing. Midna felt it curling around her, like a protective cocoon.

If Zelda noticed the tendrils of darkness, she said nothing. Midna loved her for that. "... I also had Zant Grim arrested. By the time we found him, he was raving mad, shooting indiscriminately at his men and ours."

The Shadow receded. Midna looked up. Her voice was cracking. "Zant Grim… he's in your custody?"

Zelda nodded.

Something was building up inside Midna. It was a mess of bright red and deep purple and angry orange. She felt it bubbling at the edges of her consciousness, threatening to overwhelm her.

"I've lost control," she quietly warned Zelda.

Instead of hastening away, Zelda squeezed her hand harder. She was warm and cool all at once. There was something about her that throbbed, something she had trouble identifying.

Midna felt herself fill up entirely, and then it started to overflow.

The tears began to fall on her cheeks, and then they didn't seem to stop. She was wracked with sobs, and they shook her whole body. She grabbed Zelda's arm, and her shoulder, and before she knew it, the young princess of Hyrule was holding her tightly, the way a mother would.

And Midna screamed, the tears unstoppable, the pain unbearable.

Zelda's fingers played in her hair comfortingly, and somewhere in the mess, Midna realized she was crying too. They were both crying.

The sobs subsided a long time later, when the shadows were long and the wall was bright with the setting sun.

"How can Zant Grim live when Dark is dead?" Midna breathed.

"Dark… Your copilot?"

"He was more than a copilot," Midna confessed, her breath ragged. "He was a friend. He was the man I loved. He was Guardian, until… Well, until he wasn't anymore. He was different, Zelda, he was the most absurd, self-sacrificing imbecile I've ever known, the sharpest, the sweetest, the most acidic person I ever met."

_Your soulmate_.

The words Zelda didn't speak resonated inside Midna's mind. She was exhausted, and the tears kept coming.

"I wish you could know what I mean," Midna whispered. "I could wish no greater happiness for you." But there is no greater sorrow when it is lost.

"I know," Zelda gently said. She had stopped crying some time ago, but fresh tears brimmed now. "Mine is dying."

Midna was so surprised, she actually found she wasn't crying anymore. "What?"

Zelda swallowed, and looked at the plain wall. She said, "He's down the hall. Ganondorf Dragmire stabbed him in the gut. It's infected. He's in critical condition. I'm afraid…"

It was Midna's turn to comfort her host. And slowly, her voice came back.

"Can't the doctors do anything more?"

Zelda shook her head. "It's a waiting game now. He's been in critical condition this whole time. The longer he stays in that state, the more he's circling the drain." She took a shuddering breath. "I've been trying to fix everything else, in the meantime. I feel so helpless."

Midna held her hand. The air in the room was stale, and sad. "I'd like to see him."

"Who, Zant?"

"No. Your hero."

Zant could wait. She wouldn't tackle him until she was good and ready.

Zelda blinked, and pulled away. She was pretty. Prettier than she had been, before the war, and though her eyes were rimmed with red and her nose was runny, she looked healthier than she had before. Midna realized she probably looked like a mess by comparison.

"Let me brush my hair," she mumbled, and Zelda laughed. It was a high sound, and it rang loudly, unexpectedly, in the quiet room. Without a word, Zelda reached for the toiletries on Midna's bedside table, and gently started to comb Midna's bright orange hair. The attention made warm shivers run down Midna's spine. She hadn't been cared for in years. She was brought back to her mother's room, back in Nightfall, and if she closed her eyes she could almost smell her mother's perfume.

It almost felt like living again.

After a moment of silence, Zelda said, "His name is Link. He saved my life."

Midna's heart squeezed, nodding imperceptibly. "Dark saved hundreds of people in Nightfall. I know you think he died in Armogohma, but the truth is, he died―" Her voice cracked, and she was grateful that Zelda was behind her, if only to collect herself. "He died in Nightfall. He gave his life for my people. I just couldn't let go." Her voice was growing smaller. "I still can't."

Zelda said nothing, but her gentle hands did not stop moving. Midna couldn't help but feel that she was reserving all judgement, and she felt warm affection for the young princess of Hyrule then.

"Please tell me you'll go back to ruling," Zelda said, at last. "I don't think I can do this alone."

"I don't think I have it in me either," Midna confessed. "But I promise I'll try."

"I have Time Magic," Zelda suddenly blurted.

Midna leaned forward, out of her reach, and turned around to look at her, brow furrowed. "What?"

"Magic exists," Zelda said, cheeks bright pink. "And I'm the Sage of Time. We have Sages for every Magic now."

Midna laughed. It surprised her even more than it surprised Zelda. "Of course Magic exists. The Twili aristocracy has been using it for years. I know I have." Fire danced at the edge of her fingers, like little candles. "I'm really good at Fire and Shadow."

Come to think of it, her Shadow was strong now, as strong as Fire had grown. The Sages…

"The Sages are bringing Magic back into the world, aren't they?"

Zelda nodded. "Yes, though I'm worried it'll end up the way it did last time, with magical abuses across the board. Maybe we should keep the whole thing under wraps."

Midna swallowed a thick lump in her throat. "Abusing Magic is very tempting." She didn't add more, and Zelda didn't inquire.

"You said you use Fire and Shadow," Zelda mused, "but you don't use Spirit?"

Midna frowned. Zelda's hands stilled and the brush went on the side table again. Her hair was smooth once more. "No. I've never used it. I only have proficiency in Fire and Shadow. … Dark was attuned to Water."

Zelda examined her face. It was an odd, non intrusive scrutiny, but Midna felt that she could see straight into the depths of her soul nonetheless.

Zelda smiled. "Well, you have a pretty big pool of Spirit there, too."

Midna frowned, and sounded her reserves. It was hard to do it, because she had become so accustomed to seeing only the red and the purple inside, but once she started probing, it suddenly seemed obvious. The Spirit was there, and as abundant as Zelda had said, but it was everywhere, as synonymous with her nature as her very memories.

That Spirit had kept her going, the whole time. It had not overcome her grief or her sadness, but allowed her to pull through it, raggedly and painstakingly. Looking at her reserves of Spirit now, Midna felt a deep surge of embarrassment. It should have been obvious, and she should have shown it the same respect she felt for Fire and Shadow.

Fire burned hot and bright, and Shadow covered expansively and coolly, but the Spirit simply was, its own small glow at the edge of all things, a simple reality that was so instinctually hers that she had not seen it for the Magic that it was.

Midna looked up at Zelda with the eyes on Magic, and was almost blinded.

Zelda carried with her all seven Magics as comfortably as one wore clothes. Even Time. Time, the most elusive of all Magics, the most upsettingly powerful―

Midna grabbed Zelda's sleeve. "Can you bring him back?"

Zelda was startled. "What?"

"You have it all, all of it," Midna breathed. "You can reverse Time, can't you?"

Zelda's face grew sad. "That's not how Time works. It only moves forward."

"But it's your native Magic," Midna argued. "How can you not shape it?"

Zelda looked embarrassed. "Well, I haven't had much practice. And besides, I just… know." Her expression was sad. "I'm sorry, Midna. It's just, every time I use it, I end up completely exhausted. What you're asking might kill me."

Midna stood, pensive. Her hands absently started patting at her clothes, smoothing down the crinkles. She was wearing a simple hospital dress, white and with snaps. It would have to do.

"If I gave you the life energy to feed into the Magic, would you do it?"

"Midna…"

"If it was a convicted murderer, who was to be executed anyway?"

Zelda's face grew concerned. Midna took her hand, and headed for the door.

"Midna, this is exactly what I was talking about. This is abuse."

Midna turned on Zelda. The Spirit inside of her, now that she had noticed it, flared brightly. "Zant Grim murdered my family, my friends, my last allies. He isn't sane. I could buy the life of a truly good person with his. Please. Tell me I'm not insane for at least _considering_ it."

Zelda composed herself, then took her hand firmly. With her free hand, she opened the door. Midna realized that her door was flanked with guards. Twili guards. They seemed as surprised to see her out and about as she was to see them so loyal.

They bowed. Midna returned the bow, reverently.

Before she could say anything, Zelda was tugging her along the recovery ward hallway, and her guards followed suit. As they walked, Midna realized how pristine the place was, how peaceful.

At the far end of the hallway, facing west, so that the sun slanted directly into the room in warm hues of light, there was a handsome blond soldier lying in a bed. He was hooked up to a few machines, and looked pale as death.

"If there was anything I could sacrifice to bring him back to health," Zelda murmured brokenly, as they observed through the window, "I would do it without hesitation. Is it wrong?"

"Is there nothing we can give?" Midna asked, as gently as she could.

Zelda looked mournful. "I, and all the Sages… we have to keep our power. We are the fonts of Magic once more. I would sacrifice it all in a heartbeat, but I can feel that it isn't what I'm meant to do with the gifts I was given. It keeps me awake at night."

Link Forester, the sign at the door said. Captain. Hylian Alliance. Midna looked into the room again, at the pale hero. He was handsome, and looked a lot like Dark, if Dark had been fair-haired. As Midna watched, the young captain's chest rose and fell shallowly, and blood was still seeping through his bandages.

"They say he's growing a fever, and it won't go down," Zelda whispered. "And at this rate, he'll be gone by morning."

"I'll save him," Midna blurted.

Zelda blinked. "What?"

It seemed obvious now. "I'll do it. Take my Fire, take my Shadow. He's still alive, maybe my sacrifice will be enough to bring him back from the edge."

"Midna―"

"Come on," Midna pleaded. "We have to know if Magic really works as it used to. If it does, it may save him. You can't give your powers, but I can."

"Your Magic is an integral part of who you are," Zelda protested firmly. "I can't."

"So don't take the Spirit," Midna said. "But I can spare the Fire and the Shadow." The thought of being without her constant companions burned and chilled all at once, but her Spirit bolstered her confidence. This was the right thing to do. There would be no recovering from the war while Hylia's future empress grieved.

Zelda looked into her eyes, and the thought _Are you sure?_ floated into Midna's mind.

"Do it," Midna insisted.

And Zelda, eyes filled with tears, pressed her lips together, nodded, and embraced her counterpart firmly.

* * *

><p><strong>I'm a huge sucker for reasonably happy endings, people. I'm sure by now you can see where this is going. I hope you'll stick with it anyway.<strong>

**I've always been a fan of the mirror-like existence of Zelda and Midna (and Hilda, I think? In _a Link Between Worlds_, which I haven't played), and it seemed so natural for them to be paired with Link and Dark respectively. And I love that there's a parallel with their internal dilemnas and stories. I try to keep things interesting, so I hope this parallelism isn't redundant in the narration.**

**I also love the idea that everyone has a pool of Spirit Magic in them. It amused me that Midna, who has been on board this whole Magic train since before the story started, wouldn't be aware of her own resources in that regard. I want to believe everyone has Spirit in them, and that for the most part you don't need extreme circumstances to notice its presence.**

**Okay, okay. I'm done procrastinating. Back to work I go.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	56. 3-21 - The Healers

**I missed my scheduled update yesterday, but I'm sure you'll forgive me. We had a couple serious technical problems at the office and I couldn't afford to fall behind on my workload once we fixed them. The next chapter will be on Monday, as usual.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 21: THE HEALERS**

* * *

><p><em>11<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

Nabooru stood by Darunia's side. He seemed to have warmed up to her somewhat, a fact that she still didn't feel quite comfortable enough yet to tease him about. He was standing stiffly by the door, silent and awkward. Saria was propped up on a seat of verdant leaves in the corner. They seemed to crop up wherever she went, giving her a chance to rest. The battle had taken its toll on the old Kokiri, and the girl was still prone to exhaustion.

Nabooru sent Saria a little bit of her strength, watching as Saria's core glowed a little bit orange, and Saria looked up, smiling warmly at the familiar gesture, the wrinkled corners of her eyes creasing in a grin that made her look as young as her stature pretended she was.

Impa Shades was quiet, standing stiffly by the foot of the bed.

Across the room, Ruto was bored. It was morning, and dew had deposited on the windowsill outside, where she was making droplets dance in coordination. Nabooru watched her make drops waltz and polka until Zelda came in, accompanied by Rauru.

Zelda and Midna.

Nabooru couldn't help but stare. The pain of knowing Dark was dead had been a shock to her. While Midna had been recovering, Nabooru had watched the Twili recover Dark's body with a reverence they were only too happy to explain.

It didn't make the ache of losing her old friend any less painful.

Midna wasn't wearing a hospital gown, this time. She wore the typical black of her country, but it was mournful and muted. Zelda, for her part, wore white and pink, colours as alive as she could find them.

A few doctors stood outside the room, looking through the glass, but they did not interfere.

At last, Nabooru's eyes fell on the real occupant of the room, the one they were all pretending not to see.

Link.

He was pale, a lot paler than he had been only yesterday, and his wounds were festering. It happened, when the gut was cut open, then resown as well as possible. Doctors had done all they could, but Link had probably been a goner all the way then, and this was only the long agony.

Nabooru still couldn't believe he'd not only found a golem, but also a power source for it. She couldn't believe he'd made it on time.

And she couldn't believe he'd been the last one to speak with Ganondorf Dragmire.

There was one pictograph of it all over the news now, of Link's face to face with the deceased Admiral. All over the nation, he was hailed as a hero.

And he was dying.

"I'm glad to see you are all here," Zelda said, gently. Her voice was quiet, but it carried well enough to draw their attention from Link's feverish, dying form to her face.

Ruto rolled her eyes, and Nabooru smiled.

Impa was direct, as ever. "He's one of my men. I would never consider leaving him to die."

"It's the right thing to do," Darunia huffed, and Nabooru was sure he looked misty eyed about his old comrade.

"He would have done the same for us, without hesitation," Rauru gently declared.

"He has," Saria amended, and they all fell silent at the memory, observing the prone form of a man who had once been so full of life and strength and courage.

Nabooru turned to Zelda, and held her gaze. "You asked us to consider the ethics of this, and if… Princess Midna consents, then we have decided. Link must live."

Zelda looked like she was ready to melt, but Darunia reached out and landed a large hand on her shoulder, and squeezed gently. She shot him a grateful look.

"Alright, let's get to it," Ruto snapped, ever pushy. "There's no use patting ourselves on the back while he's breathing his last."

"Right," Zelda curtly nodded, collecting herself. She turned to Midna. "No one will begrudge you if you change your mind."

Midna Black shot her counterpart a long, tired look, and raised a brow. "I gave my word. Let's do this before he takes the choice out of my hands."

Link's breathing was getting shallower, beads of sweat on his forehead. Nabooru reached out, and felt the burning of his skin like a brand. "We have to act," she declared.

Zelda was all business. "I'll guide the procedure," she said, clinically. It made them all chuckle, and Zelda looked sheepish. "I mean, the ritual, or the… I mean, I don't know. It's not evil Magic. Ritual sounds a little…"

"Crazy," Ruto interrupted, amused. "It sounds crazy. We all know it."

"Right. I've asked the doctors to outline what he would need in order to recover. It's a tall order, but with Midna's help, we should be able to power through. If, at any point, you feel exhausted, please, let me know. I'd rather you simply serve as a channel than wear yourselves out until I lose you."

Nabooru nodded along with the others. She reached for Darunia's hand.

Soon, they were forming a large circle, with Midna holding tightly onto Link's hand.

Zelda reached for them all, one by one, and soon, they seemed to be a part of a single consciousness again, with Zelda as the crux. Through Zelda's mind, Nabooru saw what needed to be done, and almost felt overwhelmed.

Still, Zelda guided them gently, prodding for their personal expertise as needed. Link needed strength, and Nabooru fed him with all the strength she could spare, as Saria gave him as much life energy as her weak resources could afford. Rauru pointed out the biggest threats to Link's stability, while Impa blotted out the distractions, which allowed Zelda to focus on the next priority.

Ruto lowered his temperature, and Darunia burned away the infection. They were all trying to be as gentle and light as they could, but it was still a hamfisted effort by comparison to the delicate machine of living cells. As Link's body rebelled against the foreign aid, threatening to shut down entirely, Zelda reached out for Midna.

"This is it," she said, sadly, and instantly Nabooru felt the sudden surge of foreign Fire and Shadow. There was Spirit, too, but a single warning from Zelda told her it was off the table.

Midna's signature was alien to their circle, and it occurred to Nabooru that, even the first time they had bonded, none of the Sages had felt so strange. Midna was a weaker mixture of Magics, strong by comparison to the average living person, but weak by comparison to each Sage in turn.

Darunia began by drawing on the Fire in Midna, gently. Midna gasped, and tears of sorrow began to pool in her eyes. Nabooru realized she was mourning her power. In compassion, she outstretched a comforting tendril of Spirit, which Midna gladly accepted. Meanwhile, Impa was drawing on the Shadow, until both she and Darunia were bolstered.

Nabooru knew what was coming, and knew that it was the right thing to do, but it still broke her heart. With Zelda's permission, the Fire and the Shadow began a slow consumption, converting into raw life force that entered into Link's body, filling it to the brim with the strength to hold off infection, fever, and death. Midna would never again know the Magics she was giving away.

Link's breathing became ragged, and his body started to spasm. Midna was crying uncontrollably now, such that none of Nabooru's efforts could truly soothe her. Saria was helping Zelda guide the life energy where Rauru saw Link needed it, while Ruto was working hard to keep Link's whole circulatory system regulated.

This was the moment, the make or break.

Midna crumpled, but it didn't matter now, all of the Sages were focused on Link by now. He was circling the drain, and with every death rattle, his body clambered back, drawing more and more of the energy Darunia and Impa were tirelessly converting.

Nabooru wondered if they would run out.

But then, Ruto let out a gentle breath, and Link stopped convulsing. He relaxed, and his heartbeat, which Nabooru could feel through Zelda, slowly became regular again, and his breathing evened out over a few minutes.

He had made it through the eye of the needle.

The relief in the room was palpable. Nabooru looked outside at the doctors, who were speechless, grinned, then rushed forward to help Midna up.

She was conscious, and sad, and exhausted, but she was smiling softly.

As Nabooru gently fed her with strength, she realized Fire and Shadow were still there, inside of Midna. Two small glows remained, mere echoes of her former power, like weak candlelight in the wind where before she had possessed a burning brazier.

Midna was smiling still. Her eyes found Zelda's, then Darunia and Impa's. "Thank you."

She meant to express gratitude that she still had Fire and Shadow, even just a little. Nabooru couldn't help but match her smile.

Zelda nodded, but her eyes were on Link.

"Zelda," Midna weakly called.

All Sages turned to the princesses, one of which was worriedly looking down at Link's sleeping face, and the other who was gently held by both Darunia and Nabooru.

"Zelda, please."

Zelda looked away, and down at Midna. Her face spoke of her hesitation. "Midna, you would be using something that is not consciously given."

"What's going on?" Ruto asked.

Midna pushed herself to her feet, and said, "I want to bring Dark Knight back to life."

The silence that followed was thick enough to cut with a knife. Even Nabooru felt a deep unease.

"You just gave all your spare life energy away," Rauru gently said. "We do not possess the combined power to resurrect a man, not if we wish to remain alive and still protect the fonts of our respective Magics."

"I will be executing Zant Grim," Midna said. "I could use a hundred different death row prisoners, but it will be him. He has admitted to having most of my closest friends and relatives assassinated. Several dozens of them. He is a power hungry, dangerous person, and I will have him killed. I just… It's only fair."

Nabooru met Saria's eye. The Sage of Forest did not appear appalled, which surprised Nabooru more than anything. Darunia, for his part, was frowning. Ruto simply had both brows raised high.

Impa, ever the incarnation of moral rectitude and rigidity, curtly said, "I think we should all have the right to choose whether or not to participate."

To everyone's surprise, Saria spoke up. "Let it be for justice, and not for love or vengeance. One is justifiable, but the others are not worthy of indulgence."

"I will not lie," Midna said, sharply. "I would do this for justice, yes, but love and vengeance cannot be dissociated."

Rauru looked deeply troubled. "This is a very serious prayer indeed. Surely we can take the time to make up our minds?"

Midna looked ill. "I cannot do this without your help. Please. Take what time you need." She did not beg further, but it was on her lips.

Zelda sighed raggedly. At length she looked away from Link, who finally rested correctly. "I will help you, in what capacity I may. Will you give the others until tomorrow to consider?"

"Of course," Midna said, weakly.

But Nabooru had already made her own decision.

She had to try.

* * *

><p><strong>Oooohhh my god, it would be so cool if Dark came back to life.<strong>

**I didn't have time to re-read this chapter for typos. I'll do that later and ninja-edit if necessary.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	57. 3-22 - The Man with the Medals

**I MADE IT. I POSTED AS SCHEDULED. I AM NOT LATE.**

**These past few weeks have been completely hectic on my end, so this is a massive accomplishment for me. I know it's short, but I promise there's some good stuff still ahead.**

**Thanks for still dropping by every couple of days, people. The loyal ones among you know exactly who you are. I still love reading your thoughts.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 22: THE MAN WITH THE MEDALS**

* * *

><p><em>12<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

Link awoke to chuckling. It was laughter he recognized, light and cheery. Soft voices were exchanging jokes around him. Link tried to swallow, but his mouth felt dry, as though he had been asleep for years.

He tried to clear his throat, and this made the voices go quiet. He opened his eyes, blinking hard.

"Oi, I think he's finally coming to."

Sheik. There was no doubt about it. Link looked at his sergeant up and down, wondering what it was about him that made him look different.

And suddenly, he realized it was Sheik's uniform that stood out. It was pristine, it was white, and it was… peacetime attire. The new, white medal on his lapel could only be awarded during peacetime. It registered so instantly, Link almost thought it was funny that this was his first thought.

Next to Sheik, Malon sat on a hospital chair, looking beautiful in a white summer dress. Vaguely, Link remembered. It had been snowing, in summer. But it wasn't snowing now, and Malon was as cheery and redheaded and freckled as ever.

"Er…" Link croaked. He had meant to say 'water'.

Luckily, Sheik caught on quickly, and soon, Link was getting a cool sip of water. He tried to sit up, but excruciating pain kept him nailed to the bed. Looking down, he saw a fresh bandage.

"What…"

"Don't remember?" Sheik asked. "Ganondorf Dragmire stabbed you. Last thing he ever did, mind you."

Slowly, foggily, the memories began to swamp back into Link's memory. He remembered the guts, the blood, the metallic taste in his mouth.

And Zelda, glowing blindingly.

"Zelda...?"

Sheik and Malon exchanged a look. Amused, Malon said, "She's busy right now, fixing the whole peace thing. Want to hear her?"

Wordlessly, Link nodded. Malon reached over to a small radio and tuned it. Distorted by radio emission, Zelda's voice nevertheless rang out, familiar and glorious.

'... And, in keeping with the ideals of fairness and equality for all, we will slowly be easing into a democratic system, which I will supervise until the people have established a solid basis of government.'

Link frowned. Malon giggled.

"It sounds crazy, doesn't it? At least the Guardians that surrendered can claim it wasn't all for nothing. Democracy. Not sure what we'll do with that."

"Govern ourselves," Sheik reminded her, the corners of his lips upturned.

"That should be pretty," Malon commented, almost sarcastic.

"How long was I…?" Link croaked, his voice worn.

"Uh, let's see. The battle stopped on the morning of the 6th, and it is now the 12th. So, six days."

"We're here to transfer you to Celestia," Malon said. "The recovery ward here has its hands full, and Celestia would be glad to host a hero such as yourself."

"I'm fine," Link gruffly said.

"You can't even stand up," Sheik said. "You'll be learning to walk again after this. All your muscles in your side are torn up. We need to get them working again."

"... Colin?"

"He's gone to his father. Commander Rusl Blade? He'll be back to see you off, though."

Link nodded weakly. Part of him just wanted to go back to sleep. Now that he was conscious, his side did hurt an awful lot.

On the radio, Zelda was extolling the virtues of cooperation and friendship.

"Zelda was glowing," he said.

Sheik and Malon exchanged uncomfortable looks.

Eventually, Malon sighed. "Turns out Magic is real, and apparently there are Sages of Magic now. Something like that. I'm a little fuzzy on the details," she explained. "But it's very colourful. Anyway, apparently Zelda's Magic convinced Ganondorf Dragmire to commit suicide. I'm not sure what she told him, or showed him, or what."

"He knew he had lost," Link said. He knew it as surely as he had recognized Ganondorf Dragmire without ever seeing him in person before. He knew it with a certainty that made him feel completely insane.

"Well, whatever it was, it worked. Of course, it was a little bit too late to stop him from stabbing you. On the other hand, you're now decorated by no less than forty-three medals, ribbons and honours, all of which highlight your courage, your service, and your distinction among your peers, from all countries of the Hylian Alliance." Sheik motioned to a pile of decorative boxes on Link's bedstand.

Link tried to smile. It was flattering, but… "How did I make it?" Stab wounds, especially in the gut area, usually festered into a fever and killed gruesomely.

Link was sure Sheik and Malon were keeping something from him. Eventually, Sheik said, "The doctors say it was a miracle."

"You were going to die," Malon continued. "It seemed a sure thing."

"But I didn't," Link said, blandly.

"Apparently not," Sheik grinned.

Link leaned back against the pillow, and shut his eyes. They were hiding things from him. Fine.

"I'll go to Celestia. If we have leave."

"Incidentally," Sheik said, "We do, after a fashion. We both received our honourable discharge papers, signed by Impa Shades, delivered by Darunia Rocks. And I got us jobs as pilots and mechanics for the City in the Sky, because let's be honest," he chuckled, "you weren't in a state to go job hunting."

Link feebly smiled. "You're a good friend." He felt tiredness like lead on his eyelids. "I'm going to sleep some more now."

"You do that," Sheik said, gently. It was unusual for him, but Link took it anyway. "You've got some hard work ahead of you."

In Link's dreams, Zelda was smiling.

* * *

><p><strong>I like exploring the reversed roles of Link being in a coma this time, instead of Zelda. It wasn't planned this way, but it does seem like the women do a lot of the rescuing in these later chapters. Although, to be fair, they were due for some badassery. Link can't be saving everyone's ass ALL of the time.<strong>

**And now that I kept my promise, I have to finish some work before I go to bed. Owning your own business is exhausting work.**

**I'll try to post the next chapter Thursday but no later than Friday. Leave a review.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	58. 3-23 - The Equivalent Exchange

**I love that, at the end of the last chapter, everyone went "WHAT ABOUT DARK".**

**Well, here's what about.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 23: THE EQUIVALENT EXCHANGE**

* * *

><p><em>12<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

It was almost midnight. The stars overhead twinkled coolly. Midna shivered under her cloak. It was hard to find heat now, with Fire so small inside of her. Its presence was still a minor comfort, but she had to dress warmly now.

The day had been full, but at least she had found justice. It didn't matter that she was cold anymore.

Behind her, several Twili guards were dragging a gagged and bound prisoner. Midna shot him a cold glance.

Zant Grim didn't look as proud as he used to. They had dressed him down to the basics and gagged his mouth to prevent him from casting any Magic. Given Midna's loss of Fire and Shadow, it would not do to allow him to escape now. She was too vulnerable.

The Citadel roof was small, the tower thinning into a near point, such that the platform was only a dozen steps across, and circular, the final staircase rising from the center. From here, the wind whipped at her violently, but she could see as far as Lonhill. From here, she only had to reach out to catch a star.

Behind Zant, other soldiers were carrying Dark's carcass, covered in a white shroud. His lifeless body was newly connected to an astounding set of machines: respirators, monitors, drips, feeding tubes. It was a grotesque sight. Looking at it now, Midna feared there was no way to bring life back into the body.

Still, she had to try.

The Sage of Spirit, Nabooru, stood on the far edge of the roof, looking out. She was glowing faintly. As Midna approached, she turned.

"His soul is still out there," Nabooru calmly said. "But it is getting more and more distant, and faint. He's melding into the world."

"If we call it back, will it restore his brain connections as needed?" Midna asked, pulling back the shroud from Dark's dessicated, distorted face. He looked more and more like the mummies from the Twilight Desert now. It hurt to look at.

"First, we have to make sure to restore his brain," Zelda gently said, pulling the shroud back over his face, shivering. She was wearing a thick white aviator's coat. It was the look she had adopted for the war recovery: pastels, but practical. Her hair was often tied back in elaborate braiding, reminding everyone that she was ready for hard work. Midna, for her part, wore black veils a lot. She wanted to signify how she had grieved with her people, even if she had been in hiding most of the time.

But not tonight. Tonight, she wasn't veiled. She was celebrating.

The Twili in general seemed perfectly happy to throw down Zant Grim, and her sentencing had come as no surprise. He had killed a few hundred people, or at least ordered the execution thereof. His calamitous rise to power seemed almost too bloody to be real.

Some had argued that the cells under Nightfall would be a suitable punishment, but more had asked for his blood. Death had not been sentenced in a long time in Twilight, but now, Zant Grim was to be executed. In private. Midna was many things, but she wasn't an exhibitionist.

Zant tried to speak, but he couldn't. Midna looked down at him blandly. There was hate in his eyes, a manic rage that spoke volumes of the danger he posed.

Looking down at him, Midna found she no longer felt anything for him. No hate, no anger, no resentment. Only calm resolve to put an end to his life. And maybe, hopefully, buy Dark's back. She had mourned for so long she didn't have a single other grievance left in her.

Saria handed her a flower. It was a thorny sort of flower, stout, with bright, thick petals, and a hard stem. Midna recognized it as a shrub flower, the kind of hard blossom that spawned in the deserts of her home. She took it quietly, grateful.

"The others will come," Saria said.

Midna did not reply. So far, only Zelda, Saria and Nabooru had shown up to assist. If one of the others refused to help, there was nothing she could do.

Steps sounded in the stairway. Darunia and Ruto emerged. Darunia looked uncomfortable, and Ruto looked a little miffed, but they were there, which was more than Midna had dared to hope for.

Shooting her a look, Ruto said, "You showed us that you were ready to do the same for a stranger. I don't like it, and I don't think it's going to work, but I'll try."

Darunia, though, was looking down at Zant Grim. Then, to Midna, he asked, "You are absolutely certain of this man's crimes?"

"By his own admission," Midna replied, her voice muted by humility. "He has been found guilty in a court of law, and sentenced by a Twili grand jury to death."

It had been an expedited procedure, but many Twili wanted to see it overwith. Darunia sighed, then nodded.

Now they stood in silence, waiting on Rauru and Impa. The two of them had expressed the greatest reticence, and Midna watched the minutes go by, thinking they were unlikely to show.

Eventually, Impa climbed the stairs. She was as severe-looking as ever, but her eyes found Midna and said, "For the services you have done this country in war." It was all she would concede, but Midna nodded gratefully.

Rauru was the last to climb. He looked sorrowful.

"You are young, and you will be parted again," he warned. His eyes found Dark's corpse. "Alas, it appears the majority has spoken. I will help you, even if I disagree with what you are doing."

Midna stepped forward, and reached for the Sage of Light's hand. "For that reason, I have to thank you all the more." She squeezed the old man's fingers gently.

He responded with a thin smile, his Hylian eyes crinkled in concern. "Are you certain, child?"

Midna felt her heart squeeze, the combined presence of all the Sages, Dark's corpse and Zant Grim's dreaded hate putting a heavy weight on her conscience. "No more despair," she murmured.

At that, Rauru's expression changed somewhat. She expected him to move away, to recoil, but instead, he squeezed her fingers warmly, and seemed to glow approvingly.

"Let's get this ugly business done," Impa Shades said, cold and imperious as ever. She was looking down at Zant Grim the way one looked at a gnat. He had made her time at war into a particularly costly trench war. Midna had no doubt that Impa would have been all for execution had it not involved bringing a corpse back to life.

To his credit, Zant merely glowered, instead of looking frightened. Midna figured it was a side effect of complete insanity: utter fearlessness.

Good for him.

"This will be a difficult exercise," Zelda nervously said. "First, we must begin with repairing his―" She stopped herself, took a breath, and continued, "_Dark's_ body. He isn't exactly in the best of shape, and this will be costly for us, no doubt. We will begin with the brain. Hopefully we can restore it to its former functionality. If we cannot, there is no point in continuing with the rest of the operation."

The Sages nodded, and Midna openly observed Zelda, leading these legendary Hylian, Kokiri, Zora, Goron, Gerudo and Sheikah. She was possessed of a newfound grace, a calm confidence, and patient, ageless wisdom. Midna found herself, possibly for the first time, envying the younger princess.

Her eyes landed on Dark once more. Maybe he didn't want to come back.

But she had to know for sure.

"After that, Nabooru will tether his spirit to his body before it vanishes entirely. Hopefully, with a healthy tether on his own brain and memories, he will reform properly, and lend his willpower to our own. At that stage, we will work on his blood." Her eyes pointedly found Ruto's face, and took another breath. "His blood has coagulated and begun to rot. Darunia will burn out foreign bodies as Ruto gives him the liquid he needs. We won't be able to heal the rest of his body while his circulatory system is out of commission. He will be very weak if, or when, he wakes up," she warned Midna. "Maybe the recovery process will kill him again."

"I have to try," Midna said, her voice oddly strangled.

"He will have to recover a lot of blood. His internal tissue," Zelda continued, pulling the shroud back all the way to Dark's navel and revealing his bloated stomach, "is swollen and full of toxins. We will begin by rehydrating his essential tissues first, and fixing them one by one. Not only the organs, but also the nerves connecting them to the brain. The lungs, first, then the heart. If," she said, intently, "his heart does not start at this stage, the attempt will have truly failed. But if it does, we will hurry on to fixing his digestive tract, and we will _closely_," she emphasized the word, shooting them all looks that brokered no argument, "monitor his vitals." That was directed at Rauru. "Midna?"

"I'll be your eyes in the real world," she said, feeling her heart pounding. She hated herself for taking heart at Zelda's words.

"Good," Zelda nodded. "After that, we will begin a slow progress through his bones, muscles, articulations. We will check his eyes, ears, nose and throat. I think the process will be painful for him. Pinpricks and needles are at the very least the sort of pain that can be expected. If he responds well, we will induce a coma. He will need all his energy to regenerate, and we don't want him tensing up with half-mended limbs.

"And his skin?" Nabooru asked.

Zelda inhaled softly, then said, "We'll work on it too. Hopefully, by the time we're done, he'll be on the road to recovery from extreme trauma." She looked at each of them kindly. "Don't waste time on making things pretty in there. We need function. We just need his body to pick up where we stop."

They all nodded. Zelda smiled. "Alright."

Then, reluctantly, she turned to Zant Grim, and said, "Zant Grim, after your sentencing, it should come as a relief that your sacrifice buys an innocent life."

Zant Grim looked at her with such hate that small sparks of fire began to flare at his fingertips even without his speaking a word. Midna lunged forward, but stopped in her tracks.

Zelda had reached out to touch Zant Grim's forehead, and her eyes were shut. To Midna's astonishment, the Artificial Design began to smile. The smiling stunned them all. At length, Zelda reopened her eyes, and looked down on him with disgust.

She shot Midna a sad look. "I tried to make him see reason. He doesn't… he doesn't regret a thing."

Midna was truly at a loss for words, and found the sentiment echoed among the sages. Zelda could see inside a person's soul?

"Is that what Time is?" Nabooru thoughtfully asked. "Looking into a person's past?"

Zelda blinked, then looked down at Zant, and said, "Yes. I suppose that's a way of looking into the past."

"Well," Darunia piped up, "I don't mean to intrude on this musing, but it's not getting any warmer up here." He thought twice about that, and began to radiate warmth.

Grimly, Zelda nodded. As they had the day before, the Sages gathered in a circle, Zant Grim's collar held tightly in Impa's fist. Midna watched them concentrate until they were all glowing their respective colours, and the symphony began.

She did not dare to hope, but found herself rushing to Dark's side despite herself. He was as cadaverous as ever, pale, wrinkled, bloated, dead.

But he was growing warmer.

Behind her, Zant Grim shrieked into his gag.

As Midna watched, tiny hairs of light began to play around Dark's jet black locks. They were so thin and weak that Midna thought she was imagining them. But there was yellow, guiding the way, and the vivacity of green, the warmth of red, while pink oversaw the whole process. Blue was inundating Dark's body, working on a hundred infinitesimal details she could not see.

Midna turned to look at the Sages again. Impa, with all the force of her Shadow, was leeching life from Zant Grim, and the Twili monster was screaming soundlessly, his eyes unseeing. Midna felt a prickle of sorrow for him, and shut it out of her mind. Nabooru, for her part, was stretched out in every fathomable direction. She wasn't focusing on Dark's corpse. She was everywhere else, gathering invisible pieces of his soul.

Please work, Midna mouthed, to nothing in particular. Her hand reached out to find Dark's. He had no pulse, but he was warm, and the bloating had reduced somewhat. His skin was slowly losing its wrinkles. Slowly, surely, Midna begged as Zant crumbled to the ground.

You made the ultimate sacrifice, she told him silently, stroking his hair, which was getting softer than it had been. And I vowed to avenge you. _Please come back_.

"I have him," Nabooru gasped, her voice tight with either emotion or strain.

Midna squeezed Dark's hand.

And felt a single pulse.

It had been so weak she wouldn't have noticed it, except it registered one small spike on the heart monitor. On the other monitor, she watched his blood pressure begin to build. Her breath held, she watched as his skin became slowly smoother, Ruto returning water like a torrent to his dehydrated body. She watched Saria feed his cells with the energy and knowledge to form functioning units again. She watched Darunia burn away the rot and leave gaping holes that Rauru and Saria encouraged the cells to fill again. She watched as the swelling went down in his gut and his chest seemed to puff out.

And a slow, shallow breath went in through his nose.

Midna felt her eyes fill with tears, the hope in her filling her to the brim. She shot a desperate look over at the Sages. Zant Grim was lying limply on the floor, and Impa released him at last. Zelda looked about to collapse. Saria, Ruto, Darunia and Rauru were shaking with exertion.

"He's breathing," Midna cried, if only to beg them not to give up just yet.

They gave no acknowledgement of having heard her, but suddenly, they glowed more, and they straightened, and their efforts renewed. Midna realized there was nothing she would ever be able to do to repay them.

Dark's hand seized involuntarily. Midna held it down, and began to rub it, to warm it up. He had a pulse now, and he was breathing, but the operating was erratic and his eyes were wild under his eyelids.

"Hang on tight," she whispered gently, "just hang on. It'll all be over soon. Rest."

As though obeying her, his body, which had begun to tense rigidly, the way a corpse became stiff, slowly relaxed, and she watched as colour slowly began to flow onto his skin. He looked deathly sick, still, but not nearly so corpse-like. She would know.

After that, she sat in silence, watching his breathing slowly become stronger, if it could be called that, feeling his pulse even out. He wasn't as handsome as he had been before dying, but Midna would have loved him all the same. He was paler, and thinner. His muscles, which Zelda and her Sages were still building, would need months of physical exercise to regain their former strength. His nails were hideous, his nerves would move uncontrollably, his hair was too long, his features were gaunt.

And Midna decided she was going to marry him.

After several hours, the lights slowly dimmed behind her, one by one, until at long last Nabooru was the only one still working. She looked like death herself now, skin pulled, dark circles lining her eyes.

But she was smiling.

"He's home," she breathed, when she too let go of the healing. "Skies overhead and sands underfoot," she sighed. "He's home."

* * *

><p><strong>It's almost like I was planning this whole thing from the start.<strong>

**To be entirely honest, though, when I introduced the notion of _equivalent exchange_ in my first draft (which no one ever saw), I was planning to go with the "barely escaped death, but exchanged just enough to save the day" thing with Dark, in the chapter where he saves Nightfall. I don't like killing characters, and I especially don't like killing characters whose dialogue is so fun to write. So Dark was a tough one to pull out of the running for such a long part of the story. I ultimately figured that it was best for Midna's development.**

**And then, of course, I briefly considered not bringing Dark back to life at all. I was depicting a war, and in war, people die. This would be a harsh reality, a gritty truth, and I would surely be praised for not taking the deus ex machina way out in order to make all my characters have happy endings.**

**BUT THEN I decided that since I'm not exactly writing social commentary here, I should just do whatever the hell I wanted, and that included not making Midna's story full of angst and mourning for the rest of her bloody days. So there. Dark's back. In a realistic story, he technically should have stayed dead. But this is what makes me happy, so suck it, Fine Literature. Suck it.**

**As for you, dear readers, let me know if the whole thing was at least properly executed. It won't change the story, but I'm curious.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. THREE CHAPTERS AND ONE EPILOGUE TO GO. HOLY COW.**


	59. 3-24 - The Parting Friends

**At this stage it's all about tying up loose ends and gently leading this story to its proper finale.**

**Although if you accuse me of making a hundred ending scenes the way _the Lord of the Rings_ did... Guilty.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 24: THE PARTING FRIENDS**

* * *

><p><em>14<em>_th__ of Hexember, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Castleton<br>The Citadel_

Nabooru packed her bags. She had just come in from the infirmary, where Dark Knight was still under constant and anxious watch. She had not woken Midna, who now slept in the bed next to him, almost as often asleep these days as the comatose man she loved. Nabooru had simply left a note reaffirming that the tether between Dark's body and his soul was perfectly fine, and that he said hi.

He would be in recovery for a long time, but at least he was alive, which was something.

There was a knock at the door.

"Come in."

"You are already going," Vaati gently said as he stepped in, his old Hylian accent making his new Hylian sound rustic and charming.

"One must," Nabooru said. She picked up her box of medals. There were two dozen of them, mostly from Hyrule, Waker and Calatia. Deciding not to arbor them, she gently snapped the box shut and carefully put it next to her folded uniform in her trunk.

"Where are you going?" Vaati asked.

Nabooru sighed, shoulders slumping. "I don't know," she said. "I always thought I'd go back to Gerudo. And I still might. But I never expected the war to end so well for me, and now I have a hundred different things on my plate."

Vaati said nothing. He was standing by the door, arms crossed, looking at her patiently. He was patient by nature. He had to be.

"Last time I was… me," Nabooru asked, carefully picking her words, "where were you?"

"Not in Hyrule," Vaati evaded. "I came to Hyrule long after your first death. I was not on the winning side then."

"So you finally learned to pick your battles," Nabooru teased.

Vaati did not laugh. "I did not want to upset the balance, but the world needed it. It was the Great Deku Tree himself that said I must…"

"I don't understand," Nabooru said, plopping down on her bed to look at him curiously.

Vaati looked uncomfortable. He stepped away from the wall and slowly paced over to the window. "There must be a cycle, every once in a while. Not all cycles are as complete as this one. Still, an imperfect cycle is preferable to none."

"You're still not making sense," Nabooru smiled.

He was looking for the right words. Eventually, he said, "Did you know that if Hyrule and its surrounding regions do not undergo the cycle of rebirth, the world becomes coiled and taut and angry? Terrible events will then occur as an apparent result of a... cosmic frustration."

Nabooru laughed. "Cosmic frustration?" She echoed.

Vaati was not joking. "Some events _must_ recur. They air out the coiled tensions, they restore the good to the thrones, and the bad to the dungeons. But the unwinding of that cycle is never pretty." He motioned to the window, out of which Nabooru knew the city was still reeling from the battle. "And sometimes, it needs to be triggered. I had to be the trigger, once." He furrowed a brow in thought. "I think the last cycle happened some centuries ago. That is an unusually long time between cycles. When this current one began, it was, therefore, bloodier."

"This was one of the worst wars we've had," Nabooru cautiously conceded. "But what makes you think that it was part of a cycle?"

Vaati suddenly looked amused. "Din, Farore and Nayru, Spirit." He seemed to prod her to draw her own conclusions. "You are not thinking for yourself."

Nabooru rolled her eyes. "Alright, so it looked a lot like the events that lead to the legend of the Hero. But it was different this time. This time, Zelda saved _him _from his deadly sleep."

"Not all cycles are identical," Vaati admitted, shrugging. "In some, the Sages do not rise alongside Hylia. But in all cycles, the Hero and Hylia defeat Evil."

"Hylia?"

Vaati smiled his usual enigmatic smile. "Your Princess of Hyrule."

"Well of course," Nabooru replied, sarcasm dripping from every word. She resumed packing.

A comfortable silence settled as Vaati watched her carefully fold her personal effects. Then, he badgered her some more. "Well?"

"Well what?" Nabooru shot him an amused glance.

"Where are you going?" He had not moved.

"I don't know."

"If you want to know more about cycles, you may wish to see the Deku Tree again."

"Is that an invitation?" She teased.

"Yes," Vaati smiled amiably. "I think it would do you great good to speak with him on more even ground this time." He paused, then added, "The Subrosians, the Kokiri, Saria will be using the Songs to go back to the Forest later today, but I will gladly travel with you if you want to fly."

"I thought you didn't like my flying," Nabooru said.

"It should be much more stable now that you do not lose consciousness every few minutes," Vaati generously said.

"And once there, how long will I stay?"

"As long as you wish," Vaati gently said. He said it like a prayer. "Time does not flow in the Forest as it does in the rest of the world."

"A real haven," Nabooru smiled.

Vaati was looking at her with his unsettling red eyes. "I would very much like to accompany you."

He said it in a polite, deferent tone, and Nabooru felt an inkling of recognition. It was the tone Hyrulians had used, ages ago, to signify an interest in courtship. Blood rushed to her cheeks.

"You don't have to make it all official," she mumbled clumsily, turning to shove clothes into her bag, hiding in hope of regaining her composure.

Vaati laughed lightly, dissipating her discomfort as easily as a gust of fresh air.

"Ah," Nabooru finally consented, "fine. Let's go... _wander on the wind_." Her tone was harassed, but only to distract from her blush.

Vaati smiled at her. It was a genuine, handsome smile. "You honour me."

Nabooru shot him a shy smile. She had not always been shy, but he made her feel impossibly young. By comparison, she was, actually.

There was another knock at the door. Nabooru threw her hands up. "It appears I am very in demand today."

She swung the door open.

Zelda barged in without a word. She came up short when she noticed Vaati.

"Oh." Stammering, she said, "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to intrude."

"You are never an imposition," Vaati graciously said, inclining his head in a polite bow.

"Is something the matter?" Nabooru asked, feeling the waves of distress wafting off Zelda like an alarming perfume.

"He's _gone_," Zelda said, the stress on the word making it sound like somebody had died. Concern made Nabooru reach out for Dark's presence, but he was still there, and not dispersed as released souls felt.

If Dark wasn't dead, then― "Who is gone?"

"Link!" Zelda exclaimed, throwing her hands up. "I kept putting it off, and putting it off, and then, next thing I know, I'm told he went to Celestia with his sergeant and the mechanic. Malon, I mean," she amended, bitterly. Her shoulders were slumped. "I've just been… swamped, you know?" Everything about the way she said it screamed of disappointment. It would have made an amusing caricature if not for her very real sorrow.

"So he's awake," Nabooru smiled. "Up and about, too! That's good."

She glanced at Vaati. It _was_ good, right? Vaati was as unreadable as ever, but she was sure she saw some amusement there, too.

"Well, somewhat," Zelda said, her eyes on the floor. "I mean, they wheeled him out. He's weak still, and the wound in his side will need a lot of therapy and exercise to recover completely. That's why the doctors moved him. He needs air, they said. And more patients needed his bed. So. Here were are. Here I am." She had never looked so dejected.

At the risk of seeming callous, Nabooru still said, "I don't understand what the problem is."

Zelda fell backward on the bed, letting out an exasperated and extremely unladylike grunt. "Don't you see, Nabooru? If he left without saying goodbye, it means he doesn't want to _see_ me."

Now Nabooru was certain Vaati was amused. His eyes were crinkling at the corners, and his lips were twitching.

"Maybe. However, it's far more likely he tried to get a hold of you, but as an injured soldier, he wasn't high on the priority list," Nabooru gently said. "Besides, he's just a short flight away."

Zelda was staring at the ceiling. "I won't have time to fly there," she said, sadly. "We're still building up electoral rules, and deciding on polling methods, and choosing a location for the government to seat… This whole peace time is a lot more of a mess than war itself."

"You tell me," Nabooru said, sympathetically. Still, it begged the question. "Why did you not go see him while he was still here?"

She knew the answer even as she formulated the question. It wasn't because she had inquired around, but the whole story was laid bare in Zelda's heart, and Nabooru was getting very good at perceiving what people carried within. It was a skill she wished she'd had before the war began.

Zelda and Link had met in impossible circumstances, had grown close through sheer, dumb happenstance. Their friendship had bloomed against all the odds, in a world that threw them together and now was going to tear them apart. The war allowed them to feed their denial, but peace wouldn't allow it. Zelda was the empress now. Link was nothing more than a decorated veteran. And since the world was back on its rocker, Nabooru concluded, Link would try very hard to forget he'd ever loved Zelda, and Zelda would try very hard to be fully immersed in the war recovery. For Link's sake.

Nabooru's heart squeezed, and exasperation made her sigh.

Fools. Love was making them stupid.

Zelda was still stubbornly staring at the ceiling, but Nabooru didn't miss the pools of tears forming in her eyes. She was trying to control her breathing, trying to remain calm, but Nabooru felt the anguish, the internal dilemna, the sorrow and the longing in Zelda's soul as clearly as if it were her own. She sat next to the young empress.

"Do you want me to ask Captain Forester to return?"

"No," Zelda said, hastily. Catching herself, she said, "I mean... not yet, he needs fresh air and exercise." _And peace_, Zelda's mind insisted, as though to convince herself. The pain briefly suppressed at the thought, if only for now.

"Alright," Nabooru carefully said. "So… How may I help you?"

Zelda sat up, then stood. "Will you find someone to keep an eye on him? Soon, when all of this settles, I'll make sure to visit." There was something in the way she said it that told Nabooru that 'soon' might be anything between a week and three years.

Still, with a smile, Nabooru said, "I can do that."

For a woman whose greatest strength was wisdom, Nabooru considered, Zelda was quite the fool. It was meddlesome of her, yet Nabooru still planted a tiny seed of courage inside Zelda's heart. It seemed pointless. The empress already had a lot of courage and spirit, of course... but sometimes all love needed was a push in the right direction. The seed was infinitesimally small. It would grow. Nabooru would not let Zelda be foolish enough to wait more than a few months. Any longer would be downright cruel for Link.

Because, if what Vaati had said was true, they had been meant to meet. And, presumably, they would not forget.

Zelda nodded slowly, and Nabooru saw the courage beginning to take effect. Zelda's mind was already back on the tasks ahead. "I have to get back to my hopeful candidates. Sorry I barged in."

"It's no trouble."

Zelda nodded again, absently, and made for the door. There was something to the slope of her shoulders that made Nabooru reach out and lay a gentle hand there.

As soon as Nabooru's hand touched her shoulder, Zelda turned around. Her eyes were bright and her lips were pressed together. Kindly, Nabooru brought her in for a hug. Zelda resisted at first, but eventually relented.

"I don't know how I'll do this," she softly said, struggling to maintain her composure.

"You have what it takes," Nabooru gently said, stroking the princess' hair in a motion that was as natural as it would have been alien to the Guardian captain she had once been. "You've gotten through the worst of it."

Zelda let out a shuddering breath. "I wish my parents were here. They knew how to rule."

"I think it is plain," Vaati suddenly said, his soft voice almost melodic, "that you have proven yourself able by now."

Zelda shot him a grateful look. She hadn't broken down, which was not Nabooru's doing. It was a testament to Zelda's inner strength. She smiled gently up at Nabooru, and stepped back. "If you want to come back to Castleton, I'll be happy to see you. Both of you," she added, smiling at Vaati, her eyes rimmed with pink, but otherwise without tears.

Vaati bowed reverently, and Zelda curtsied.

Nabooru escorted her to the door, where two honour guards stood patiently and expressionlessly. "I'll find someone to make sure your soldier comes back in good shape."

"I wish I had more medals to thank you with," Zelda said, and her light remark made Nabooru laugh.

As Zelda stepped out into the hall, her appearance and expression regal again, Nabooru bowed curtly.

"When I have news," she said, "I will return."

Zelda smiled gently. "I hope that seeing old friends will be a good incentive too."

Nabooru grinned. "I'll see what can be done."

Zelda nodded, smiling still, and motioned to her guards to follow her. Vaati came to Nabooru's side, and together they watched the young princess of Hyrule walk away.

"She is like every Zelda I ever knew," Vaati said, softly, so only Nabooru would hear. "That strength is there, and the kindness, too. Even the doubts."

Nabooru watched the princess turn the corner, then said, "Think of the things she could do if she only had an ounce of courage." If Vaati noticed her secret smile, he did not acknowledge it.

"She had courage, but then courage was stabbed in the _estom_." Vaati said flatly.

"The stomach?" Nabooru smiled. "Well after all our efforts, I better make sure he stays reachable."

Vaati raised a brow. "You are not going to the Forest?"

"No, we're going to the Forest," Nabooru said, returning into her room. "But we'll have to make a few stops on the way."

She was the kind to keep a promise.

* * *

><p><strong>The whole Nabooru x Vaati thing was not premeditated. Pure spur of the moment thing. I like it for this story, though. I think it works okay.<strong>

**So. Link has gone to Celestia for his recovery. A couple of you have complained that there isn't enough fluff between Link and Zelda at this (very late!) stage of the story. This is intended. I don't like stories where the low-born kid can just freely hang out with the princess. That always bugged me a little. Considering Zelda's million responsibilities, and Link's serious post-traumatic injuries, it was highly improbable that they would find the time and the pretext to meet up right away during the tumultuous war's end.**

**But deep down, we all know where they're bound to end up, right? This whole story is about struggling against the inevitable and everything...  
><strong>

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


	60. 3-25 - The Boy With the Flit

**So I think at this stage we can comfortably predict that by Friday next week, FG will be marked as completed. On Monday I'll post the last chapter, and the epilogue will be posted on Thursday after that.**

**Weirdly enough, this is the last chapter I ever wrote. I wrote it because I am a doofus who forgot a few characters in my first ending draft and realised that I never said what happened with them, and somebody would probably wonder. So here we are.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 25: THE BOY WITH THE FLIT**

* * *

><p><em>1<em>_st__ of September, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Celestia<br>Malon and Sheik's Engineering and Repairs_

A barrage of curses reached Kidd's ears as he pushed open the door to the workshop.

"Calm down, Link," Malon's patient voice suggested.

"_Walking shouldn't be this bleeding hard_," Link said from the floor.

"It won't be easier if you waste your breath on cursing," Malon chided.

Kidd ignored them. He was carrying heavy bags and his arms strained, so his only priority was to get his purchases to a stable surface in order to relieve the weight. He was grateful that Damon didn't try to carry his stuff for him. He had taken his fair half and Kidd intended to do his part.

So when he finally dumped the parts on the workbench, it was nice to see the expression on Damon's face. He rarely smiled, really, but sometimes the approval in his eyes was enough to make Kidd feel like he'd done something right.

The sound of their arrival made Malon look up from Link's exercising mat. The sight of Link struggling to make a full rotation of his arms, or fighting to walk, or even having difficulty breathing at times was familiar, if unsettling. He favoured his flank where the wound was slowly healing, even though the doctors had clearly instructed him to stand as straight as he could. Kidd and Damon had chosen not to get involved, but it seemed Malon couldn't help mothering him in that respect.

"You're slouching over again," she admonished, and Link groaned audibly in frustration.

Kidd ignored most of the interactions. It wasn't any of his business. He and Damon set out to their own area of the workshop.

It was a nice workshop, all things told. It was a huge improvement on the workshop Malon used to own, down in the lower, abandoned parts of Celestia. This time, Shad had offered her an upgrade. So she and Sheik had moved all of Malon's belongings to the new area. The courtyard was situated half in the shadow of Shad's tower, surrounded by a high wall covered in ivy and flowers. It afforded an unbroken line of sight to the big expanse of sky and had its own take-off pad near the edge of Celestia's main body. The actual building was both a garage with an adjoining small house, with good air circulation.

"Are you going to work on the Flit, boys?" Malon asked as Link struggled through his stretches, wincing.

"Yeah," Kidd replied. Damon hadn't answered, but his nod was enough.

Malon looked pleased. Sheik emerged from the garage, wiping his hands on an oily cloth.

"Did you find some Red-6 paint?"

Damon picked the canister from one of his bags and threw it to Sheik, who caught it deftly.

"Thanks." It wasn't a friendly tone, but it wasn't openly hostile, and that was progress.

It bothered Kidd sometimes that his brother chose silence so often, but Damon had his own way of coping with the war and its consequences. When Kidd had joined him in Celestia after the peace had been brokered, Shad had explained that they'd be welcome as long as they wanted. Kidd would have stayed, but he knew Damon wanted to hide, to leave, to dissimulate his shame and his night terrors.

So they had asked Link, Sheik and Colin if they could have their old, half destroyed Flit, which still sat in the shade of Malon's workshop on Celestia. Link had asked Impa and Darunia to consider the machine a total loss, and it therefore served as salvage. As soon as it was repaired, Kidd knew, they would leave for a remote Waker island until Damon felt confident enough to return to the world.

They used Malon and Sheik's workshop for now, and their days included bartering for parts with the visiting merchants, sharing tools with Sheik, listening to Link and Malon argue about Link's health, and keeping their heads down, their eyes focused, their ears closed when the panicked shouts rose in the night.

Damon wasn't the only one with night terrors, Kidd knew. Link had been changed by his brush with death. The knife Ganondorf Dragmire had stabbed in his belly hadn't just damaged his body. Link's mind would take longer to recover than Kidd could say. Damon had gently told him how the memories could haunt you, assail you when you least expected it.

That was alright. Kidd knew how to keep quiet. It was a family trait.

Link was unhappy. It was an unhappiness that shadowed his steps, that furrowed his brow, that shortened his temper. Kidd hadn't said anything when he'd overheard Malon quietly whispering with Sheik about whether or not Link would be better off if they sent him back to _her_. He didn't intend to pry.

Still, he knew some things. The golems were broken. Apparently they would be dismantled and salvaged. The state of each country in the Alliance was on the news every day. The armies were reorganizing. The victors in the war were disbanding and going home until they were needed again.

And every time news of the imperial princess came on the radio, the workshop would fall silent, all eyes on Link.

Colin had gone home to his father and mother, eventually. He sent messages from time to time. Kidd found he missed the young man. They hadn't bonded much, but they were friends of circumstance. Link's sister and grandmother were also sending word. They were going to rebuild Outset. When Malon had asked Link whether he would join them to help out, Link had been conspicuously silent, his gaze distant.

Damon had volunteered, though.

Kidd watched as his brother quietly took out exhaust parts from their bags, setting them down on the ground next to the Flit shell they were refurbishing. The hard landing had crushed the pipes under the aft fuselage, and they couldn't safely diagnose engine hiccups without a cleared exhaust port.

Sheik had been a good resource for some of the Flit's peculiarities, but Damon was otherwise savvy enough to understand which corrections to make. Kidd, for his part, watched everything with active curiosity. Some day, he would maybe have to make those repairs on his own, and the least he could do was pay attention.

The day was moving along steadily by the time Damon pushed out from under the Flit, asking for the shaping hammer again. As Kidd handed it out, the courtyard door swung open gently.

Link had stopped practicing his stretches and was sitting in the shade pensively, in a metal chair. He always was, these days, it seemed. But Kidd noticed when he looked up sharply at the door.

The Gerudo woman came in, dressed in her sharp military uniform. Kidd hadn't bothered to remember her name, so his eyes immediately lit on Link again, who seemed to be swallowing his disappointment.

After her came the Sheikah lookalike. Vaati, she called him? Kidd wasn't sure. He glanced down at Damon, who had observed both arrivals without emotion, and the two brothers mutely agreed neither visitor mattered to them. So Damon slid back under the fuselage and continued banging away at the metal, trying to dent it just a little bit more back into shape.

But Kidd, who was on standby, couldn't help but observe.

"Captain Forester," the Gerudo woman said, reaching out to shake Link's hand. "It's lovely to see you again."

Link outstretched an arm, wincing only a little, and squeezed her hand. "Captain Nabooru Spirit." He didn't get up from his chair. "I'd get up," he explained, "but…"

"No, no," Nabooru said, smiling warmly, removing her cap as she shook her head, "please, don't. I know you were hurt. Stay comfortable." She looked around at the courtyard, her eyes landing briefly on Kidd, and Damon's legs, but she didn't linger on them. "I understand this is a gift Shad Knowing made to your friends?"

"Jobs can be hard to find for war veterans," Link said. "Sheik and Malon were glad to accept the position."

"But you did not?" Nabooru asked, pulling out a chair. Vaati stood by, leaning against the wall, clearly uncomfortable. Kidd almost wanted to smile. It was expected by now. Everyone was uncomfortable in some way around Link these days. He had, after all, become a war hero. A war hero who screamed in the night. Instead of being the war icon people had hoped to parade around, he was painfully human, painfully weakened by the experience. After a while, people simply stopped coming around to ask him to show off.

"I'm still on the mend," Link quietly reminded her. "I couldn't do the work even if I wanted to."

Nabooru looked uneasy, and her smile wasn't hiding the fact. "But you want to stay on Celestia, right?"

Link would have shrugged, but all his muscles were knotted, and the best he could do was a weak lift of his shoulder.

"Link? Do we have visitors? Oh." Malon stopped in her tracks, wiping her hands on her coveralls. "Captain." Kidd knew the Gerudo woman was an ex-Guardian, and though he had made his peace with the factions re-uniting, many on either side still had trouble being civil with one another. Malon was still coping with the fact that her father had died at the hands of the Guardians. Sheik, for his part, generally clammed up in their presence.

"Ms. Ranch," Nabooru said, bowing her head in deference. It was unnecessary, but it was the touch of respect Malon needed.

"... Would you like something to drink?" Malon asked.

"No," Nabooru said, adjusting her Hylian Alliance cap under her arm. "Thank you. I was only just passing by."

"Are you in Celestia on official business?"

Nabooru's eyes landed on Link again, but only for a split second. Kidd didn't miss it. When she replied, she was looking at Malon. "Well. I was only wondering how you were all holding up. Your participation in the Battle for Castleton was instrumental. Among other things, I am tasked with making sure you are… happy." It was a weak excuse. The woman was hiding something. Kidd's curiosity sharpened, and it was like the Gerudo woman could _feel_ it. She glanced at him, almost startled.

"We're cared for," Malon gently said, drawing the attention back. "And as you can see, Link is steadily improving."

Link wasn't looking at any of them. His gaze was off in the distance, his jaw clenched. Nabooru's expression changed, and the pain in her eyes was unexpected. She reached out to touch Link's shoulder, and he relaxed a little, though he wouldn't look her in the eye.

"How is the Empress?" Malon asked Nabooru, wringing her fingers. Link almost flinched, which escaped Malon's notice, but not Kidd's, or Nabooru's, or Vaati's.

"Busy," Nabooru said, an apology clearly audible in her tone. She was looking at Link, as though making excuses. "She's trying to implement some Guardian ideas into the Hylian system. The people want the ability to self-determinate, but it's a new idea. It may still take time."

"Well," Malon said, cheerfully, "when you see her next, tell her we miss her, and tell her not to work herself into the ground. We all know what happened the last time that happened."

In a move so sudden he startled them all, Link pushed himself out of the chair, mumbling a curt, 'Excuse me', and pushed past Nabooru and Vaati, leaving the workshop's courtyard. No one tried to stop him, but his departure put a damper on the falsely happy mood Malon was trying to create..

Nabooru's expression spoke volumes. "He's not doing well at all, is he?"

"No. He's frustrated, I think," Malon said, her keen emotional intelligence as able as Kidd's observation skills and Nabooru's intuition. "Not just physically," she added, glancing at Vaati. "Although that definitely doesn't help. We never actually _told _him Zelda used Magic to heal him," Malon put a strange emphasis on the word 'magic', as though it was a borrowed word, unscientific. "He knows, though. Deep down. He feels helpless and useless."

"There's a storm inside his mind," Nabooru said. "Zelda wanted me to check on him. She cares for him a great deal."

"I know," Malon said, her voice no louder than a sigh, "but until she comes to him herself, he'll spend his time wondering what he did wrong."

"He did nothing wrong," Nabooru said, surprised.

"Try to tell him that. His first mistake was falling in love with the imperial princess. This separation was inevitable."

"If he doesn't stay in Celestia," Nabooru asked carefully, "where will he go?"

Malon didn't know, so she shrugged. That was when Kidd noticed that his brother hadn't been hammering the metal of their Flit in a while. He looked down.

Damon's expression was vacant, as Link's had been. He had pulled out from under the Flit, and was looking at the sky. Looking down at him from his standing position, Kidd suddenly saw the vulnerability there. His big brother was constantly teetering on the edge of the abyss, and from time to time, his pale eyes met Kidd's, begging for an anchor.

Kidd knew how to be an anchor nowadays. Damon checked his face in silence, his gaze darting, then, he seemed to calm down, and pushed himself back under the Flit, and the hammering resumed.

Kidd was lucky to have his brother, and it was only fitting to thank him by being a steady, undemanding support.

But Link had no one, really. He woke up screaming in a lonely room every night. He couldn't contribute to anything. His only anchor presided over the empire.

As Kidd looked back towards the three other persons in the courtyard, it became obvious the same had occurred to the visitors.

"I will see if the Empress can do something more for her hero," Nabooru vowed.

Malon pressed her lips together, skepticism evident in her eyes. Kidd had to agree. Link had already received life from the princess. He had no right to ask for more, and he knew it.

It didn't make Link's pain any less painful to watch.

"Don't let her contact him again unless she's ready to love him as he loves her," Malon said. "Or else…" She sighed, defeated. "Please. Time alone will heal him now."

For the first time since coming in, Vaati spoke up. "That is good to know." There was irony there, but Kidd couldn't be sure why.

Nabooru smiled a sad smile. Then, Damon asked for a screwdriver, and Kidd ignored them all.

* * *

><p><strong>Ahhh writing Link's pain is both sad and so satisfying. I think I am a sadist where characters are concerned.<strong>

**Especially since most of you were probably expecting Zelda to come in. Hurhur**

**Speaking of pain, I think we should drop by Twilight before we get back to Link. I sure hope the readers don't mind...**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. Yesterday I spoke to Lyxie about a new fanfic idea, because apparently I'm a masochist and I like having multiple projects to work on all at once. I outlined it to her as follows: "IT'S _LEGEND OF ZELDA_ MEETS [Bollywood movie we both have a completely unhealthy and inappropriate love for], BUT, LIKE, WAY LESS STUPID." She started cackling. Yes. Cackling.**

**So, I'm probably going to do that at some point. It'll be absolutely glorious.**


	61. 3-26 - The Artificial Design

**Hey everyone.**

**... I have nothing to add. I'm just upset that it's almost done.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

* * *

><p><strong><span>PART 3:<span> FIGHTING GRAVITY**

**CHAPTER 26: THE ARTIFICIAL DESIGN**

* * *

><p><em>7<em>_th__ of September, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Twilight, Nightfall<br>Twilight Palace_

It was early in the morning. Mornings in Twilight looked indistinguishable from evenings. Midna was reading Zelda's Hyrulian proposal for a law paving the way to democracy, making notes where she would, theoretically, makes changes. If, theoretically, she were to propose democracy to her people.

Theoretically.

She was so used to the quiet of her reading room, and had grown so accustomed to the hum of life-support machines that when Dark's breathing changed, she froze.

He was lying in penumbra, his features relaxed, his arms at his side, his body thinner than it had been before his death, but fuller than it had been before his revival.

And his breathing pattern had changed.

Midna set the sheaf of papers down, calmly, forcing her hands to stay steady. After his revival, Dark had lain in a coma from which he would, or would not, ever wake up. Or so the doctors had said. Midna hadn't begrudged them that. By all accounts, his very coma was miraculous.

As she stood, setting her chair in quietly, she saw his foot move.

Her heart was pounding. Almost a month of nothing, and now he was…

The monitors were livening up. As Midna approached, they seemed to scream that something important was happening.

And Midna knew.

She reached out to smooth his dark hair back. It had grown a lot. He would be due for a good haircut soon. Under her fingers, his forehead creased infinitesimally. She would have kissed it, but she didn't dare do anything more than stroke gently.

Despite herself, a gentle hum of a lullaby came from deep in her throat, peaceful, optimistic, a lullaby from a long time ago.

As his breathing became stronger, Midna observed as his eyelids tightened only a little. They had, until then, rested closed without activity.

And he opened his eyes groggily.

There was no word for how incredible his eyes looked after staring dead for so long. They were the same brownish red they had always been, but in that instant, Midna understood what a miracle looked like.

There was no cry of joy, no effervescence. All she could do was stare down at him, unable to formulate a single word. His vision seemed to focus, after a while, and his gaze found hers.

Then, with incredible effort, his mouth opened, his jaw moving with difficulty, and he mouthed a single word, no sound coming from his unused vocal chords, but his intent clear all the same.

'Hi.' His lips formed the word, and then he smiled.

Unbidden, tears formed in her eyes. She rang for the doctors, the nurses, she reached for a glass of water, and as morning became day, she watched as doctors tested his motor functions, his comprehension, his reflexes, his coordination. He was still tired, but he seemed to take everything in stride.

Eventually, a nurse asked him if he could say his own name.

Dark had only just reclaimed his ability to sip water, and he motioned for the glass before he would speak.

Then, with some difficulty, he said, "... Dar...k." The hard sound at the end was difficult to pronounce, but his effort was nevertheless rewarded with broad smiles across the room.

"Where?" He asked, his mouth forming the words awkwardly.

"You're in Nightfall, Twilight," the head doctor patiently said.

"No." Dark shook his head. "Where is she?" It was slurred, but comprehensible. He was looking around, his eyes as motile as they had been before he had died. Midna was hiding in the corner of her room, shielded by the curtains and the shadows created by the otherwise bright sunlight.

But he found her anyway.

"There," he said. "You."

Midna did not move. "You're alive." It was hard to keep her voice steady, unaffected.

"So are you," Dark said, his voice gaining strength with exercise. He would never stop using it, Midna suspected. He even smiled, almost smugly. "Worth it."

"Don't gloat," Midna said, though she had trouble not smiling. "I had to jump through hoops to get you back."

Dark's eyes were bright. He smiled. She couldn't stop looking at it.

The head doctor cleared his throat. "We, er, will let him rest. He needs rest," he said, sternly, for Midna's benefit. "We will come back later this evening."

"Thank you," Midna quietly said, though she was still looking at Dark's incredible, impossible smile.

It was hard to say how long, but they looked at each other in silence for a long time. Eventually, he lay down, and she rushed over to pull his blanket up again.

"You saved me," Dark said, his voice rough.

"I had to," Midna curtly said. "We're officially without an Artificial Design, and the people really like you."

"S'the only reason?" Dark asked, his eyelids growing heavier.

"No."

He smiled again, and his eyes closed, and he promptly fell asleep.

And Midna's life began once more. For a whole week, its mornings started with a shared breakfast and helping him exercise. He spent his afternoons in physical retraining while she worked. They ate supper in silence.

And she slept next to him at night.

One morning, as he was practicing his dexterity, his fingers tapping one by one against his thumbs, Dark said, "I saw you're thinking of setting up a democracy. How Guardian of you."

Midna looked up from her sheaf of papers. "Zelda's idea."

Dark didn't reply to that. He said, "So I'm going to assume that you had a serious reason for bringing me back."

"I missed your nagging," Midna dodged, burying herself in her work again.

"That's harsh, princess," Dark tisked, shaking his head. "Did my bargain with the Sol's socket work?"

Midna's heart squeezed at the memory. She carefully put her pen down and looked across the desk at him. He was leaning back, his feet propped up on her desk, his loose clothes still vaguely reminiscent of a military uniform. He was beautiful.

She said, "You saved countless lives and you're hailed as a hero. The minute you're well enough to run, you're pretty much assured the popular vote for Artificial Design." Dark's eyes were alight with amusement. Midna's expression soured. "Don't do it again."

"Sands forbid I could make something of myself."

"Apparently, you can't succeed without also using your catastrophic need for self-eradication."

"I didn't do it because I was suicidal," Dark chuckled. "I did it for you."

Midna froze. She wanted to slap him. She wanted to shake him. She wanted to hold him.

"Don't do it again," she merely repeated. He laughed, and his feet came down from the desk.

She forced herself to keep working. She could feel Dark staring at the top of her head, and she felt his amusement radiating off him in waves.

"Midna."

"What?"

"Midnaaaaa."

She looked up sharply. "What do you want?"

"You know what amuses me?" Dark said, swaying in his chair from side to side, his unsteady movements more fluid by the day. Even his muscles were growing stronger.

"No."

"You brought me back. You can do the whole uncaring, distant ice queen all you want, but I'm not going to leave you alone until you confess."

"Confess what?" She was not listening, she was looking at the letters on the paper. They were moving around in a mocking line dance.

"You brought me back because you like me," Dark said, smugly. He had regained the smugness almost instantly after waking up. It was both a blessing and a curse. "You love me and you can pretend you don't, but some day, I'm going to make you admit it."

"Good thing you have a whole lifetime ahead of you for that," Midna mumbled.

"I'm flattered, really," Dark said, standing. He was wobbly on his feet, and had taken to using crutches to steady himself. A temporary fix, and apparently not enough of an impediment to keep him from following her around, teasing her the whole way.

"Good," Midna said, as distant as she could.

"Come on, Midnaaa," Dark drawled, hobbling around the desk to stand at her side. "Admit it."

He pulled up a chair and sat next to her, close enough that she'd only have to lean over a little to kiss him. He plopped down into the chair and looked at her with amusement, his fingers already back to working their dexterity training.

Except he was practicing on her shoulder.

"I need to work," she said, unable to sound as annoyed as she wanted to.

"Come on," he drawled. "Admit it."

"No."

"Be strong."

"I'm busy."

"I love you, you know."

His drumming fingers had stopped, and now the heat from his hand was simply spreading along her back. Midna glanced at him.

"You mentioned something about that before you died."

"I know. I meant it," he was smiling genially, like he had no idea what his words weighed.

She took his hand from her shoulder and held it in her own. He was growing stronger. He'd be fully recovered in a few months, a far cry from the advanced state of putrefaction he'd been in.

Her heart was beating. The fear of losing him.

"I didn't bring you back because you love me," she gently said. "Or even because you were the last of a long list of dead friends and family. Or because you're self-sacrificing and the people need you for their Artificial Design."

He didn't speak. She loved him for it.

"I brought you back because I am selfish and because I couldn't force myself to move past your death. I brought you back because I am weak and foolish, and because I couldn't accept that you were dead. And now that you're here," she continued, her voice breaking, "it's only a time off from the inevitable. One day, you're going to die again."

"It's not so bad, you know," Dark said, grinning. "Dying. It hurts a little, sure. The body fights it, at first. But then it's like drifting off to sleep. A long, dreamless, timeless sleep."

"I don't want you to die," Midna harshly whispered, tears rising unbidden in her eyes.

"It's going to happen one day," Dark insisted gently. "Someday sooner than you'll be ready for. And we're never ready for it. It just comes up. So stop brushing me off and pretending you don't care about me. I'm counting my hours here."

She looked up from his fingers to really look at him. He was so impossibly handsome, so ridiculously smug, so helplessly sincere.

She kissed him.

And for that moment, she knew only joy.

* * *

><p><strong>It's a good switcharoo that Midna and Dark have such fluffy chapters, I think.<strong>

**Ugh, so sad that this is almost over. See you in the epilogue on Thursday.**

**Love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>

**P.S. If you have any questions on the development of the story, like "how did you come up with [insert something here]?" let me know right away and I'll try to address that in my final A/N.**


	62. Epilogue

**EPILOGUE**

* * *

><p><em>4<em>_th__ of October, Year 3378, Third Age  
>Hyrule, Celestia<br>_Malon and Sheik's Engineering and Repairs_  
><em>

"Two months I've been on the mend," Link whined, "and it still hurts like a bitch when I sit." Across the courtyard, Damon's eyes darted to meet his gaze, and they exchanged sympathies.

"Oh, shut up," Malon said. "Here, have an ice." She was sweating in her coveralls, but, in the spirit of being a good nurse, she served him a melting cube of juice from the cooler box next to his table. In the sunlight, the juice was already gathering in a puddle around the cube. Link popped the ice in his mouth, letting it melt on his tongue.

It wasn't exactly stifling hot out. They were a good distance from the ground, and Celestia was at her usual cruising speed that made for a light breeze. But the ice still felt good.

"You know what really bugs me?" Sheik said as he entered the courtyard, holding a basket of fresh honey bread, "Summer is already on its way out."

"To be fair, the nicest weather was when we were in Waker, preparing for the siege. It wasn't exactly an occasion to rejoice," Colin gently said, following Sheik into the courtyard.

Link hadn't seen Colin in over a month, at least.

Malon let out a high-pitched squeal and rushed towards Colin, arms outstretched to embrace him warmly. Link, for his part, could only turn with a wince, unable to move comfortably for now. His side was free of stitches, but the muscles were still mending and did not take kindly to any free motion.

"When did you get in?" Malon asked excitedly.

"About an hour ago," Colin replied, grinning. "My father wanted to discuss disarmament with Shad."

"Darunia's got a brand new ship, _the Valoo_," Sheik said, for Link's benefit. "I met up with him when they docked."

Link nodded absently. His side was throbbing dully. It tended to keep his attention a lot these days. Sleeping wasn't an easy feat, since he moved around a lot. It was getting gradually easier, but he couldn't wait to be officially considered mobile again. There were the nightmares, too, which were a lot harder to control.

"How is your wound, Link?" Colin asked, perceptive as usual.

"Better," Link replied, sincerely. "I'd gladly hug you, but I was told to be careful." Still, Colin got close enough that they could shake hands. "I'm glad to see you, Colin."

"And you, sir," Colin exhaled. "I was worried you wouldn't pull through for a while. Doctors thought you were circling the drain."

Link didn't miss the sharp exchange of looks between Sheik and Malon, but he had grown tired of asking about it. "Yeah, no one wants to tell me what happened."

It didn't take a genius to figure it out, though. The specifics were beyond his grasp, but only one thing made sense, and it was Magic. And there weren't a hundred people who could work Magic in the world.

"It doesn't matter what happened, though, right?" Colin grinned, looking suddenly a lot more his age than the war had allowed. "You're already getting better."

Link smiled, but his side throbbed. "That's how I see it."

"I was wondering if you were going to invite your grandmother and your sister to live here, in Celestia," Colin suddenly blurted. He was going pink in the ears. "I mean, since the war is over."

Link laughed. "Eh, they've got the ocean in them. They're working on rebuilding Outset. I think I might join them… eventually. Once I'm better." His hand reached up to his side absently. For a moment, he was in Waker, on the eve of a battle, with the arms of a woman around him. But she wasn't in Waker anymore. What would be the point? "It might be good for me to become a simple, honest man again." Then, with a brotherly smile, he added, "Whatever the case, I'm sure we could use a capable hand."

Colin pressed his lips together, but his eyes spoke of his happiness with the suggestion. "I'd like to help, then. Will you two be joining us?" He asked Sheik and Malon, who were smiling foolishly, hands clasped.

Sheik looked uncomfortable, until Malon squeezed his hand. "Um, well. We might visit. But Shad offered us a neat place to run our repair shop on Celestia." He motioned to their inner courtyard. Aside from the small clear area where Link sat at his table, the place was a mess. On the other end, Kidd and Damon worked tirelessly.

Link didn't say anything. He was glad Sheik had found a place where he could make himself useful.

Unbidden, Zelda came into his mind. He felt a deep pang of loneliness as he watched Colin chat with the two mechanics. Even Damon and Kidd had found each other. Absently, he slipped another ice into his mouth, and pretended he was cheerful.

On his lips, he almost tasted Ganondorf's blood.

"... Anyway, I'm sure Rutela and Tetra and the others will be happy to see us when we stop by Windfall," Colin was saying.

"Make sure you say hi from me," Malon demanded. "We're only going to Windfall whenever Shad decides, and that could be a long while. He has a lot to handle."

Neither of them mentioned Shad's new responsibilities as Celestia's chief engineer. He still dropped by every couple of days to check up on the people in his care, but he was otherwise busy with managing the giant machine that served as home to most of them.

No one had asked exactly how Thaddeus Knowing had come to die, but some unkind souls speculated Shad himself had done it. Link wasn't certain what to think. Shad didn't seem like the murdering opportunist, but then, he didn't consider himself a killer, either. It was just something soldiers did, sometimes, in war.

Malon moved, and knocked over an oil canister. Ganondorf's guts spilled across the pavement. Link shut his eyes, focusing on the throbbing in his side.

"Oh, shoot," Malon said, stepping out of the puddle of oil. "I really need to clean this place up. Fetch the sand, will you, Sheik?"

"Darunia will want to see you," Colin said.

"He must," Sheik said, grinning, as he tossed a rag to Malon, and started spreading sand on the spill. "We still haven't properly celebrated his promotion."

Link felt ill.

"I'm going for a walk," he said, pushing himself up. "I'll be back in time to see Darunia. And your father," he added, for Colin's benefit.

"Would you like company?" Malon asked, even though she already knew the answer.

"No, thank you," Link softly replied. "At the speed I walk these days, I'd make you all go nuts with boredom."

Colin looked concerned, but Link ruffled his hair as he slowly walked by. Every other step pulled at his side, but it was a good exercise to get back on track, and it forced him to stand upright instead of hunched over, nursing his wound.

He had to get away.

The courtyard was nestled between some of Celestia's buildings. He came around the shop and pushed the door to exit into the narrow passage that served as a street.

And stopped short, nose to nose―

"Zelda." The word came out as quietly and reverently as it usually did when he was alone, in the deepest darkness of night, when he was assailed by smells and sounds and images that needed to be wiped out.

She looked stunned. She had been standing just outside their courtyard door, the wind tousling her hair, reddening her cheeks, her dress light pink, regal and unnoticeable all at once.

How long had she been there? Why hadn't she come in?

She mouthed his name, but no sound came through. They were so close, he could feel her breath on his collarbone. He had dreamed of her like this, close and bright, like a beacon to ward off Ganondorf's innards, to push away the nightmares of unconsciousness. In her presence, his wound seemed to throb less, his heart was beating stronger, his breath came easier.

"Walk with me," he mouthed, if only to keep the group still chatting inside the courtyard from coming out to investigate.

She nodded, and fell into step with him. Though he was embarrassed by how slowly he walked, she said nothing.

When they were far enough away, she said, wringing her hands, "I'm sorry I took so long to visit you."

Link struggled to find his words. "You had better things to do. I don't blame you."

"I blame myself," Zelda gently said. "You deserved more honours."

"I have all the medals," Link said, lightly, forcing a smile. "I had no right to ask for more."

Even if all he wanted to do was beg her to love him.

She looked up at him then. They reached the end of the narrow street. There was a balustrade that gave them a good view of Hyrule Field, far below. Celestia was cruising just under the lowest clouds. Zelda was smiling, and Link's heart ached to see it.

"I bought a personal Flit," she brightly announced. "I called it _Loftwing_. I want to learn how to pilot. Will you show me?"

Link hadn't expected that. He blinked, then stammered, "Of course, your grace."

"I did hear you call me Zelda just now," Zelda said, her smile dimming somewhat. "After what we've been through, I think it's fair to be on a first name basis... _captain_."

That admonishment squeezed his heart. What they'd been through. Skies, he couldn't forget. He had promised to forget, but he couldn't. When she talked of things they'd done together, it was all that came to mind. Of course, she was talking about stopping the war, and the Windfall siege… But if he didn't stop himself, all he could think about was how soft her skin was, how gentle her lips were, how she laughed when he brushed her lowest ribs.

His mouth felt dry.

"Link?"

"Sorry. Of course. Of course I'll teach you. Zelda."

She smiled, then her eyes fell to his hand, which was absently cradling his flank. "How… how is your wound?"

Link dropped his hand. "Better. A lot better. Doctors called it a miracle." He looked into her eyes, searchingly. "I'm not stupid. I know Sheik and Malon are keeping the mystery of my recovery from me."

Zelda looked uncomfortable, and Link sighed, smiling sadly.

"You didn't have to do it," he said. Her gaze shot up to his in surprise.

"Of course I did!" She exclaimed, then caught herself, wincing at her mistake. "I mean," she added, lamely, "we couldn't just let you die like that."

"I haven't had the chance to say thank you," Link said, "so here it is. Thank you, Zelda. Wholeheartedly."

She nodded dumbly, her lips pressed together. Then, after a moment of nervous deliberation, she said, "I'm not just here to ask for flying lessons. Or for your gratitude."

Link's heart was pumping blood so fast he heard it in his ears. "I was hoping you weren't."

"The truth is, we promised something impossible that night." She didn't have to say which night she was talking about. The memory of her body against his was the only thing making his therapy bearable when he had trouble sleeping in the dark.

Her words sunk in. He shook his head. "We made no promises," he said, his throat dry.

"We vowed not to ask for more," Zelda said. "That sounds like a promise."

"Well, I suppose, semantically―"

"Link."

She was so beautiful. The way she spoke, the care in her bright eyes… It was almost too much to look upon. She licked her lips, the tiny pink dart of her tongue slipping out in a way that seemed so familiar, so perfect, so tantalizing. "I can't keep my promise."

His heart was pumping to bursting. He had dreamed of this moment so often, so consistently, that now that it actually happened, he didn't remember the perfect words he'd vowed to say if ever the occasion presented itself.

Screw it. "Good, because neither can I."

A heartbeat passed.

And then they were kissing.

He wasn't sure which of the two reached for the other first, but by the time she was cradled properly in his arms, her lips pressed firmly against his, he stopped thinking. Time itself seemed to stop, and he realized _she_ was doing it, and he couldn't care less that everything seemed to dim by comparison. She was warm, and soft, and so damn perfect in the circle of his arms.

By the time she emerged from his embrace, she was breathless, and laughing with genuine happiness. She was beautiful.

"Skies, Zelda." The raw emotion in him made everything, even the nightmares, even the guts, seem like the easiest thing to handle. "It's not that I can't live without you. It's just that I... _really_ don't want to."

She ran a single finger down the length of his nose, smiling kindly. "We need to stop fighting gravity, Link."

He loved the way she said his name. His wound barely hurt. He gathered her up in his arms, and kissed her again.

The sunlight was unfiltered. The wind was blowing. The sky was blue. Celestia continued its course.

* * *

><p><strong>Take a moment, guys.<strong>

**...**

**Okay, now let's do the Author's Note thing.**

**SO DID YOU SEE THE THING I DID? YOU DIDN'T EXPECT THAT, DID YOU? HAHA**

**Signature move, people. Signature move.**

**Anyway. _Five years_ I worked on this story. I couldn't wait to be finally done with it. And now that I am, I'm sad. I want to thank everyone who kept pestering me about this for the whole three years that I was on hiatus. Don't get me wrong, I hated you while the story lay unfinished, but now that it's done, I need to say thank you. You persistent, unrelenting, wonderful fuckers.**

**I had a few questions thrown my way, so I'll try to address them here. If any new questions come up, feel free to PM me and I'll do my best to answer them.**

**"How did you come up with the idea of Flits in the first place?" ― If you liked the idea of Flits, you should check out the show _Last Exile_. You'll immediately see that this (awesome) show contains the clear blueprint for the small, highly maneuverable airships I wanted for my story. That said, the models displayed in_ Last Exile_ were two-man crafts without a cockpit. I needed a little bit more, so I elaborated on that. I wanted something small, something quick, literally something that flitted as needed. I wanted Link to fly a craft that required skill.**

**"Are we going to see Vaati again (in a later story)?" ― I wish I could give a definitive answer, but the fact of the matter is that I don't know. It's almost definitely certain he'll cameo in some capacity. I'm happy with my portrayal of him in FG, but I have no plans of making him a central character in the near future. I'm obviously far more familiar with Link, Zelda, Midna and most classical LoZ characters. Vaati, as a villain, doesn't fully measure up to the threat of Ganon or Agahnim, or the crazy of Ghirahim and Zant. As characters go, he's fairly minor, and I'm not sure I'm going to change that going forward.**

**An extra thank you goes out to those of you who reviewed on a regular basis as I was posting this story. You kept me motivated and gave me constant feedback on what worked and what didn't― that's exactly why I post here. So, thank you.**

**I'll probably continue writing fan fiction, but don't be surprised if I also update my profile with a link to an original novel at some stage in the future.  
><strong>

**Also, if anyone has an opinion on the overall story and was waiting for it to be complete before letting me know, the stage is yours. Let me know whether I distracted you for at least a few hours. It's what I'm all about.**

**For anyone reading this a few years from now, I'll probably still be reading anything you send. Thank you for dropping by and walking alongside me for the duration of this story.**

**With all my love,**  
><strong>CM<strong>


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